


Epiphany

by Fenrir4life, The_Story_Maker



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Humor, Slow Burn, Time Loop, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 147,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenrir4life/pseuds/Fenrir4life, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Story_Maker/pseuds/The_Story_Maker
Summary: Sephiroth is looping, repeating the events of Final Fantasy VII over and over again. He has experienced not only the events of the original game and the remake, but many more cycles beyond, stretching into a multitude of similar and yet ever-so-slightly different worlds. Regardless of loss, death, or even victory, he has been unable to free himself from this time loop – or even uncover why he is looping at all.Determining to find answers, he seeks out Aerith Gainsborough to see if he can convince her to interrogate the planet itself for information. However, it turns out Aerith is not completely ignorant of the cycle. Fed experiences by the planet of the events of the original Final Fantasy VII, she has good reason to distrust Sephiroth and his plans.This story revolves around their interactions with each other and the resulting consequences that ripple through this particular cycle.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Sephiroth
Comments: 235
Kudos: 550





	1. Da Capo

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be told from the perspectives of multiple different characters. Unreliable narrators abound.
> 
> Perspective shifts will be marked with two blank lines in a row, while scene shifts will be marked with three asterisks (* * *).
> 
> This story is a slow burn romance. However, it will include smut, which will cover a variety of kinks (possibly even including ... handholding, you filthy degenerates). If any of those aren’t for you, don't worry: we won’t embed any plot-critical details in the sex scenes. Where possible, we will try to separate out explicit details into their own interludes. Where we cannot, simply search for the next triple asterisk if you wish to move on to the next scene.
> 
> Disclaimer:
> 
> We do not own these characters. We are not challenging copyright, nor do we seek to make money off of this work.
> 
> Epiphany: A word with multiple meanings or interpretations. It can be a moment of profound insight. It can be a moment when truths that have been hidden from you for all this time are made clear. Or, it can mean a manifestation of the divine. 
> 
> Enjoy the fanfiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da Capo: A musical term meaning, simply, "From the Beginning."

It always began with a fool on a train.

Sephiroth observed, invisible and intangible, the world through Cloud’s eyes as the train pulled up to the station.

 _Why here?_ he wondered as he watched with detached disinterest the amateur terrorist group Avalanche dispatch the guards. Why was this always the starting point? Of all the myriad of moments, spinning through the complex clockwork of eternity, what was so special about ... _now?_

Time and again, Sephiroth had looped back to this point. He was always the same Sephiroth; he was sure of it. Any power he gained, he kept. Any memories he made, he retained. Each time it was a slightly new world, some _slight_ differences between how things were here and how he remembered. But each time it was the same _damned_ cycle.

And there was Cloud, again. Somewhat shaky, for reasons he did not yet know, with hints of clumsiness he might find perplexingly unfitting to a SOLDIER, First Class. One would almost think this was his very first time. Which, in a way, it was. His mind knew precisely what it was doing – how to move, how to react – thanks to the imprinting through his Jenova cells from the recently deceased Zack. His body, thanks to its intense Mako and Jenova treatments, had the speed and power to keep up with his mind. But he still had no muscle memory. No muscle buildup in the right places, as someone would gain from training with a melee weapon for years. He was strong enough overall and instinctive enough with his skills that it almost didn’t matter. But the signs were there, to one who looked closely enough, of someone feeling through a powerful and complex suite of abilities for the first time.

Sephiroth watched Cloud do a backflip as he dismounted from the train and gave an internal scoff. Such a wasteful piece of showmanship. Thankfully _he_ was above such self-indulgent theatrics.

His mind promptly turned to what suitably dramatic way he would reveal himself to Cloud this time.

Perhaps he would casually dispatch the Shinra scorpion robot? He could drop from above, skewering it with a downward thrust of his sword in an ironic echo of how he had first killed the Cetra in the original timeline, so many loops ago. The allusion would amuse him at least, even if no one else had the context to get it.

The prospect energized him slightly, infusing him with a brief ripple of motivation as he contemplated the entertaining shock and confusion this entrance would cause. But he found it slipping away again before he could fully grasp it. Even trolling Cloud was starting to lose its thrill. He was ...

Sephiroth was bored.

The revelation shocked him into a moment of anger. How dare anyone trap him in this endless loop upon loop, to the point where even his simplest satisfactions had lost their meaning?

Sephiroth seized upon that feeling. Yes, if amusement could not motivate him, then anger. Anger was a motivator he knew well. Whatever it took to drive him on, to keep him going. He would not end. And to give in to the cold, dark abyss of despair was, in itself, a kind of end. An end, not with a bang, but with a murky, inexorable dragging at his steps, slowing him down like the unwinding of a clock until he just ... stopped.

He _would not_ stop. Whatever it took to drive him onward; whatever scourge he had to grasp. Its pain was a blissful kiss in the face of horrifying, empty _nothingness._

He dismissed such thoughts with a sharp mental gesture, like a dispelling slice of Masamune. He was Sephiroth. Even contemplating such thoughts was beneath him.

With annoyance, he realized this self-indulgent introspection had cost him his chance. The window of opportunity for getting a body into the proper position had closed. With Jenova’s main body still in Shinra HQ, he couldn’t rapidly move masses of her cells to where he needed and simply flash-forge a body. He needed to rely on taking over and overwriting bodies already infused with Jenova cells, most of which were far away and in a poor condition to travel. Oh well. He would just need to fall back on taunting Cloud through visions. At least the boy’s high concentration of Jenova cells made it possible anywhere.

As Sephiroth bided his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity, his mind continued to turn over and over. Prodding Cloud was all well and good, but to what end? What plan would he enact this cycle?

His main, frustrating issue was he had no idea _why_ he continued to loop. That lack of knowledge gnawed at him. He didn’t like the idea there was some force out there greater than himself and knowing _nothing_ about how it worked continued to needle him.

Perhaps that was his problem, he realized. Lack of knowledge.

He could afford to dedicate one cycle to information gathering. He had to be careful, of course; he could never be certain this latest looping would not be his last, so he still had to position himself for the best outcome just in case. But he resolved, this time, he would not take any major action without first undertaking a massive gathering of information.

... Minor action, of course, was another matter. As Cloud walked past the flames crackling in a building destroyed by the Mako reactor explosion, the fire acted as a trigger. Memories, vivid and hot, came rushing to the forefront of Cloud’s mind. A house, a town burning. A certain, oh so significant someone standing amid the flames.

_How can I resist such an invitation?_

Sephiroth revealed himself before his mind’s eye, a vision of full realism which only Cloud could see.

The shock, the dawning disbelief and horror, was enough to bring a smirk to Sephiroth’s face.

No words now. Sephiroth turned and led the way slowly into the shadows, confident Cloud would follow him. Yes, the boy always needed to be led. It was good to start motivating him now. Before long, the agents of Fate would start to interfere. They always did, in every cycle after the first. He needed to stoke Cloud’s hatred, ensure that he would have strong enough motivation to face down the Arbiters of Fate when the time was right. A necessary step in any of Sephiroth’s plans.

As Cloud stumbled after Sephiroth into the dark alley, he gasped, “How ...? You’re not real. I -”

“- killed me, I remember.” Sephiroth’s lip twitched in a smirk. A completely true statement, on many levels. “I think you will find it hasn’t stuck.” His smirk widened. “I think you’ll find much you do matters little in the end. Can you see it, Cloud? Our beloved planet is dying. Blow up one Mako reactor today ... shut them all down tomorrow; it will still not be enough. She dies: slowly, silently, painfully. Can you bear to see the planet suffer?”

No, he needed to be careful about this tack. His own passion had briefly gotten the better of him. The planet was _his._ It enraged him to see what was _his_ being reduced to dust by tiny, short-sighted fools, but he could not risk breaking Cloud’s hope entirely, not before he’d served his purpose. A little bit of reverse psychology was likely to inflame him to fight all the harder, but he mustn’t press it too much. No, he needed a different fire to stoke Cloud’s passion.

“Tell me, Cloud ... do you remember their faces? The ones I took from you?” he smirked again as Cloud staggered at this attack, savoring the hidden layers of the question like a private joke. Cloud would remember the people of Nibelheim. Cloud would remember his mother. But Cloud would not remember the other deaths that had affected him so profoundly.

The flower seller, the death more widely felt than any other.

The freedom fighter, the death that led to the unraveling of fate.

The childhood friend, leaving Cloud the last survivor of Nibelheim, letting him fall with his mind shattered and ultimately uncertain he was even that.

So many, many others, each a person close to Cloud ... and now Cloud couldn’t even remember their fates.

_“You just don’t get it. There’s not a thing I don’t cherish!”_

_You fool. What if_ _**that** _ _Cloud could see you now? A drifting, disinterested mercenary, needing to be led by the nose, if not by me, then what do you find that motivates your steps? Not service to a cause, not even fully the pleadings of a childhood friend ... The simple, venal incentive of money. You truly need the most basic of motivations to drive you._

“Those people bind us together, Cloud. I would be loath to lose such a connection.”

“You bastard!”

Well, that was quick. He hadn’t even managed to get to the part about how the planet dying would bring all their connections to an end.

Cloud reached for his sword and leaped forward in fury, his blade cleaving through the air towards the vision he saw of Sephiroth.

Sephiroth smiled moments before the sword connected. Of course, there was nothing there. Sephiroth dismissed the vision and the sword clattered against empty earth.

“Good, Cloud, good ...” he whispered as an echo in Cloud’s mind. “Hold on to that hatred.” Sephiroth knew from experience it would drive him to become strong. Strong enough, one day, to challenge Fate. All Sephiroth had to do was give him the occasional push.

Such an occasion came up not two minutes later. As Cloud approached the flower seller, Sephiroth simply could not resist. After all, he reassured himself, it was important that Cloud not come to think his vision a one-time hallucination.

Sephiroth hit him with another vision. This one had amused Sephiroth so much in one of his earlier cycles, he could not help but repeat it now. Even as the flower seller turned, Sephiroth used the speed of thought to deliver his vision so rapidly, to Cloud it looked like time had nearly frozen. Sephiroth appeared with his hand on the flower seller’s shoulder, resting for a moment before moving forward.

“You’re too weak to save anyone,” he taunted. “Too ... Hm.”

He paused, derailed by a sudden thought. In Cloud’s vision, Sephiroth turned momentarily towards the flower seller in reflection of the direction of his abrupt speculation.

Sephiroth’s problem was a lack of information.

Here was a Cetra with a direct line of communication to the planet.

There were only a limited number of powers capable of causing Sephiroth’s looping. Humans were too weak. Jenova had been subsumed to become a part of him. There were hints of a dark _something_ , something that arranged to bring Jenova and the planet crashing together, to pit one against the other, perhaps leading to the destruction of both ... but Sephiroth had never been able to approach them. That left the planet itself as the single untapped source of information he had access to. It, perhaps, might have some insight into the nature of his travails.

And here, right in front of him, was the one, singular person in the entire world capable of tapping that well of knowledge.

Sephiroth promptly abandoned the vision and his taunting of Cloud. He had more important matters now. Leaving Cloud to figure out the way forward for himself, Sephiroth sought the nearest potential body for his ends.

There were several such candidates in the city. Sephiroth mentally referred to them as “Shamblers,” because that was about all they were good for without his influence. Black robed, wasted and sickly, left to their own devices they mostly wandered around, doing the bare minimum to ensure their survival. “Sephiroth-Copies,” or “Sephiroth-Clones,” they’d been labeled in some timelines, but he sneered at such a label. They were nothing close to a copy of him. Infused with Mako and Jenova cells in his image, they might have been. But that just turned them into his appendages. They were Jenova’s now, their minds subsumed by her and their bodies her raw material, and Jenova had in turn been subsumed by him.

There was one such Shambler near enough for his purposes.

Sephiroth entered into the body, possessing it. His presence began to rewrite the form into his preferred image. As the body straightened, it took on added height. Silver hair flowed down his back. Eyes emerged from their sunken shadows to gleam, with vertical cat-slits for pupils, a washed-out grey overlain with Mako green. Muscles filled out and black robes turned to a black coat. As a last touch, a long length of steel grew inch-by-inch in the air above his grip and Masamune coalesced in his left hand.

Smiling, Sephiroth turned his gaze upward and his feet left the floor. Gravity had no meaning for him. Without looking back, he flew through the air below Midgar’s floating plates. Enough doing what he had always done every loop. Time to try something ... different.


	2. Counterpoint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Counterpoint: In addition to referring to contrasting perspectives in an argument, counterpoint can also mean "a musical piece with at least two distinct melody lines, playing simultaneously."

Aerith skipped across the last bridge that led to the cottage nestled away in the Sector 5 slums. The scent of flowers and green, growing things hit her, filling her with a sense of peace. The static purr of the waterfall soothed across her senses like the rub of an affectionate cat. She was surrounded by an ineffable feeling of _aliveness_. This was her home, her sanctuary. Even the Turks stayed away, ever since that one time Tseng had come to visit when she was a child. It was as if nothing bad could happen to her here.

Inside, however, she was still grappling with a growing unease. It wasn’t the explosion or the chaos of the Mako reactor bombing. It was that she’d known to expect it. She was used to hearing the whispers of the planet. Mostly they were distant, half-heard, not even really in words. Occasionally a truth would rise to the surface, sometimes from the mouth of a newly departed soul who hadn’t yet lost their individuality in the Lifestream. Every once in a while, she’d get visions.

Then, abruptly, the visions had increased. She had learned too much, _experienced_ too much, as if she had personally lived it. And that was more than a little alarming, considering the subject of the visions centered around ... her.

That was when she had started to see them. The dark cloaks. Not the poor, sickly men who shambled around and seemed to collect in odd, disused parts of the city. These beings _were_ hooded cloaks. They rushed through the air like spirits, never touching the ground. They were an eerie, terrifying sight, yet seemingly invisible to the average eye.

They were not pleased with this knowledge she had been able to gain. Every time she tried to act on it, they appeared. Arbiters of Fate. They wanted to strip this knowledge from her, so she could not act except as she was meant to. But ... this knowledge had been gifted to her by the will of the planet, hadn’t it?

Yet, even beyond than that ... she sensed something about herself inherently displeased them. Some ... facet of her personality wasn’t what they thought it should be. Every time they touched her, she felt them try to strip a little of that away. It hadn’t happened often, but it had been terrifying.

Then there was tonight. On the way home, she had sensed something that horrified her down to the deepest recesses of her being. Something terrifyingly, unnaturally _wrong_ to even be in this world. She had tried to flee, but the Arbiters had suddenly risen up before her, blocking her path. They had swirled around her, keeping her hemmed in and unable to escape. They only cleared again when she saw ... him.

That was when she understood. Cloud. Of course the Arbiters wanted her to meet Cloud. Her visions – that influx of experience – had revealed to her how important he was to her. Would be to her. Would be for the entire world.

She didn’t understand. Why did the agents of Fate seem to think her visions were working cross purpose from them? Wasn’t Fate the will of the planet? If anything, her visions had caused her to pay more attention to him than she would have an average encounter on the street. She’d given the meeting a little extra shove to be more memorable, so they’d have a connection for later. Surely that was what the Arbiters wanted? For this moment to have proper weight? The planet certainly seemed to approve. On instinct, Aerith had given Cloud the thematically significant yellow lily for free, rather than charging him for it like she’d seen in the vision. That _felt_ right. So if the planet was telling her one thing and Fate was acting discordantly to that, what did that _mean_?

She was honestly starting to get rather annoyed. Fate, the planet – they should really get their act together. Perhaps some cosmic force could just come down and _tell her_ what it wanted for once, instead of all this inscrutable dancing around. It made her want to consider some more colorful four-letter words. But one thing her mother had taught her: those words were not to be used lightly. They should be saved up, so they would be truly impactful when used at the appropriate moment.

Speaking of her mother, Elmyra met her at the door.

“Hi, mom!”

“Aerith, dear! You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Aerith was momentarily taken aback. Not by the news, but by her mother’s reaction to them. Elmyra loved people, but she could turn into a lioness protecting her daughter. Which is why her current expression seemed so out of character. She was hesitant about introducing this new guest, although she tried to hide it. That didn’t make sense at all. Elmyra would offer tea to the devil if he entered politely enough, but would clobber with a rolling pin in an instant anybody she thought was a threat to Aerith. This didn’t match either of those two reactions; what was going on?

“He’s a member of SOLDIER.” Elmyra leaned in slightly and lowered her voice. “I’d thought he was dead, but when I asked him about it, he just shrugged.”

Aerith’s heart leaped and her breath caught. _Zack?_ For a moment, the sheer impossibility of this thought was forgotten as she pushed past her mother, heart beating and face lighting up at just the possibility it might be true.

The presence of _wrongness_ hit her full across the senses like the shrilling squeal of strings.

There, sitting on her couch, tea cup held daintily in his left hand and saucer in his right, was Sephiroth.

_Shit._

Elmyra snapped alert at once as Aerith’s flower basket fell to the floor. Aerith’s hands had flown unconsciously to her mouth, a gasp escaping before she could even think about seizing control of her reactions. Sephiroth smirked. He put the teacup aside and stood, uncoiling from the couch to his full height. Aerith’s eyes flicked from him to her mother. Elmyra was transitioning from concerned mother to protective lioness, slowly reaching for her rolling pin. Although the action was meant to be too casual to attract attention, it did not escape Sephioth’s notice. His smirk grew pointedly amused as he regarded the simple, mortal homemaker about to threaten a god with a rolling pin. Aerith’s heart leaped into her throat. Here was someone who killed without batting an eye, who had once killed _her_ in a scene imprinted vividly onto her mind, whose presence was now blasting her with power like the bombastic trumpeting of horns. Her mother had absolutely no idea what she was dealing with.

Sephiroth looked deliberately at Elmyra, then turned back to Aerith and smiled. “Let’s take a walk.”

Aerith was caught. She could not, _could not_ let her mother see how profoundly this being frightened her. Plus, a small part of her woke with a niggling feeling of annoyance; she almost didn’t want to give _him_ the satisfaction. She could see him smirking again, sure now in his confidence that he could predict exactly how this encounter would go. So, out of petty willfulness, Aerith decided to do something he didn’t expect.

She smiled brightly at him. “Perfect! I need to collect flowers for tomorrow anyway. Let me go grab the baskets.”

She bustled past him, temporarily ignoring that if she really wanted _fresh_ flowers for tomorrow, she should be picking them in the morning. Elmyra grabbed her arm as she went past. “Aerith, do you ...”

“It’s alright, mom,” Aerith lied reassuringly. Fully back in control of her reactions again, she didn’t let a hint of her actual near-panic cross her features, instead radiating her best aura of at-ease in control. “Found ‘em!” Turning back to Sephiroth, she blasted him with relentless and inexorable good cheer. “You take this one.” She thrust an empty basket into his face.

The eldritch, godlike being paused for a moment.

“Go on, take it!”

Sephiroth regarded her evenly. “Hm.” A small, amused smirk crossed his features. One hand lifted and opened slightly. Aerith promptly placed the basket’s handle in his hand and beamed at him in a way to suggest he had just lost all control over his life. “This way!”

Aerith lead the existentially horrifying silver-haired shadow out into her flower beds. Here, she always felt she could relax slightly. This was her domain. Sephiroth continued to loom, not just out of place but positively unnatural in this environment and impossible to ignore. If she thought of the harmonic resonance of her sanctuary as soft woodwinds and a gentle piano theme, then his presence was like a full gothic choir, all howling his name.

“Do you know anything about flowers?”

A pause. “I have extensive knowledge of the botanical usage of many plants, as well as their significance in cultural symbolism.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought that of you.”

“I was a voracious reader.”

“Then you get to decide what we pick!”

“Hm. Is there a _point_ to this exercise?” he asked with a hint of impatience.

“Are you sure you want to say that to a florist?” Aerith asked in playfully warning tones.

Sephiroth paused again. Then he seemed to decide it was simpler to just do what she asked to move the conversation along, rather than put his foot down. He chose a flower, seemingly at random, then plucked it just below the sepal.

Aerith’s instincts as a florist took over. She gasped. “No, no, no! Don’t pick it there!” Before she even fully registered the essential and constitutional _wrongness_ of him, she was beside him, reaching down to the base of another stem. “You want to pick it down here, close to the earth.”

Sephiroth slowly plucked a flower as instructed and set it in the basket. Then he glanced down at the flower-head he’d already picked. He seemed vaguely surprised it hadn’t wilted in his hand.

Sephiroth held up the flower for a moment and looked at it. He turned it over between his fingers, almost as if he knew it was supposed to be beautiful, but was not fully able to understand why. And as if some part of him was distantly aware of that fact. It was another reminder of his _otherness_ , his alien nature, but it still struck Aerith as something ... sad.

Aerith blinked, then shook her head. Pity was dangerous, and she couldn’t let herself be distracted if she wanted to get out of this alive.

* * *

Sephiroth had indulged the Cetra girl long enough. He set the basket, half-filled with flowers, carefully arranged by color, on the ground. The absurd pastel ribbon drifted in the breeze, a tiny, irreverent banner for his wasted time.

"I think your little performance safely rules out any possibility of you being fully ignorant. The question, then, is just how _much_ do you know, and how?"

The girl’s hands froze in the midst of organizing her flowers. "I'm ... not entirely sure what you mean," she said, clearly stalling for time, her hands going back to their task again. Sephiroth felt his eyes narrow. _No, stop that_. _No anger; only control._

"I know how to gather flowers into an aesthetically pleasing arrangement." She showed him her own basket, organized to make a holistic pattern of color and style. "I know the going rate for a bouquet in Midgar ... And occasionally I get told things by the planet."

That last was said with a little daring, although there was a flash of fear in her eyes the moment the words left her mouth.

 _Ah …_ "Oh? Just what could the planet have told you to elicit such abject terror of a man you've yet to meet?" He clasped his hands behind his back, feet planted in firm parade rest as he injected a bit of warmth into his voice. This wasn't an interrogation. Not yet. "Don't be cagey, now. You can tell me the truth."

"... That you kill me." Her eyes flick up to him and there's an edge of defiance in the shaky lift of her chin. "That you're the most dangerous man in the world, if man is even what you are at this point. That everything about you is _wrong_."

 _Interesting._ Nothing she said afterward had told him anything useful, but it didn't have to; those first four words had spoken volumes. He hadn't fallen for her little trap after their first time around; he knew too well how much more dangerous she was dead than alive.

Beyond that, though ... She'd spoken with such certainty, but not in the past tense. She wasn't looping, then, just being fed information. Information from the very first cycle. He was almost disappointed.

He dilated his pupils, head shifting back ever so slightly. A momentary, exaggerated gesture of surprise could serve to disrupt her expectations, and it was becoming clear that doing so was absolutely crucial if he wished to secure her cooperation.

"I see. And if I told you that the planet's information, however well-intentioned, was outdated?"

“You’re not the most dangerous man in the world?” the Cetra girl asked flippantly, seemingly before she could help herself.

“Oh no. That is completely true. As for the rest ...”

“Well duh.” Aerith chuckled, wondering whether it would be worth the probable instant stabbing that would happen if she called him a dummy. “You didn't show up here the last time around." Her brow furrowed. “You're not supposed to show up here now ... Oh, this is all so _confusing_ ..." She pressed her fists to her forehead, for a minute his alien presence less agitating than trying to reconcile the experiences in her head.

 _Shit, shit, shit ..._ She had allowed the disorienting muddle to distract her and let slip more than she’d intended. She still wasn’t sure whether admitting knowledge or pretending ignorance was safer. There were too many possibilities. Enough of her visions were of events in the “future” – maybe he wanted to keep that future from happening and he’d kill her for knowing a way to defeat him. Maybe if she pretended complete ignorance, he’d leave her alone as not being a threat. Or maybe he would kill her because she wasn’t useful to him. She couldn’t possibly know.

Well, there was no hope for pretending complete ignorance now.

She lowered her hands. Slender fingers reached out to touch a flower for a moment. "I see things ... Not quite memories, more like ... like a full 'nother set of experiences. A whole other life, lived parallel to my own. Stretching on past where I am now. Except ... things aren't quite the same."

She looks up at him. "Are you here to make sure none of that happens now?"

The obvious course was to tell her 'yes.' It was even true, if not necessarily the way she'd wish to interpret it, when it came to particulars. On the other hand ...

Sephiroth’s mind didn’t turn to the circumstances that had lead to his initial defeat. Why would it? That incident had long since faded into the realm of mere inconvenience. Instead, his thoughts turned to the events he imagined she would find most relevant.

If he didn’t take the same actions, she didn’t need to die. If he had no intention of summoning meteor, she wouldn’t need to undertake that desperate ploy to become one with the Lifestream. It was simple as that.

She'd likely consider that too good to be true, and through it, come to distrust everything he said. Her instilled knowledge would only reinforce that suspicion.

"I reject that fate. I reject _fate._

"I have rejected it over and over again, and while the ending changes every time ... I still find myself at the same beginning. I initially took this for a blessing, a stroke of luck that would allow me to correct events that did not go as I would choose. I have since grown skeptical as to the motivation behind the phenomenon.

"Which is where you come in."

"What?" She looked up at him, puzzlement and confusion furrowing her brow. "Over and over again ... You mean you've lived this all more than once? Many times even?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "Then ... why are you here? To kill me before anything else can happen? I'd like to think even you weren't so cruel as to toy with me this much first. At least when you're supposed to murder me, it was quick and painless." Her brow furrowed in pained confusion over tenses on top of everything else. "What do you want from me now?"

Murder? Hardly. She'd been an enemy soldier, in her own way – and, as he'd eventually had to admit, she'd outmaneuvered him, then.

Ah, well; in for a gil, in for a well-appointed villa in Costa Del Sol. The more she knew, the more useful she could be.

"It is imperative you understand that when I sought godhood, I succeeded.

“More than once.

“I have, in recent cycles found _nothing_ of which I was incapable... except for resisting the loop itself. The list of powers that could so influence me against my will is vanishingly short ... and it is headed by the Planet itself. Perhaps the Lifestream surrounding my body serves to anchor me to this moment; perhaps the Goddess simply exists and is simultaneously more subtle and more overt than I could have predicted."

This was turning into a rant. Time to bring it back. The hook, the one thing that could overcome her suspicion and fear: her faith. He wouldn't have to lie; it was as real a possibility as any.

"Perhaps I am intended to act as a modern WEAPON. We both know that my Planet is dying, bled dry by venal, willfully myopic humans. _I_ can only speculate ... but you? You could simply ask.”

Aerith found her hands trembling. _Goddess_ , and she'd thought her instinctual reaction to him as some sort of eldritch horror – some nightmare elder god from the depths of fantasy – was an overreaction. She'd almost begun to believe her impression of his presence, blasting at her like an orchestra of warning, was inflated thanks to simple psychology. She knew what he had done to her in the future; of _course_ he would seem as scary. And wasn’t that a sentence she had never expected to think.

But now from what he was saying, it looked like her instincts were _completely accurate_.

_Help, I'm trapped with a Thing That Should Not Be and he's a god now. Help, help, help, help ..._

Well, no help was coming. Unless she misread the planet's intentions entirely, she _was_ the help.

Aerith fixed a playful look of musing on her face.

"Nothing of which you're incapable, huh? Nothing but picking flowers correctly, it seems!" she said with a wink.

She was taunting him. All this time, he'd considered Cloud his nemesis, his opposite number, even, in rare melodramatic moments, his foil ... and this girl was needling him while her heart was, based on the sound of it, making an admirable attempt to escape through her ribcage.

Her courage was admirable. Still ...

"The ability to perform a task and the knowledge to perform it are not synonymous. You are welcome to inspect my work, once you've finished dodging the conversation."

Nothing was beyond him, now. Certainly not elementary horticulture. This was a matter of fact; pride didn't even enter into the equation.

"Well someone's prickly." She gave him a show of pouting at him. She put a finger alongside her chin. "So you need me to talk to the planet, huh? Maybe if you took more time paying attention to flowers, you could ask her yourself," she teased. "They could even put in a good word for you!"

She hesitated, then the smile fell momentarily from her face. "Sephiroth ... there's something I need to tell you. It's really important, so you need to listen to me before you do anything rash, okay? Sephiroth ... You're not a Cetra."

His expression not shifting in the slightest, Sephiroth lifted his hand to mouth, fingertips barely covering his lips.

After a suitable pause, he lowered his hand.

"I am aware.” As he watched her battle surprise at this revelation, he added, “If I were, I would not need you. At least, not for so esoteric a purpose."

He adopted what he liked to call his 'lecture tone.' "Of all of the narratives concerning the Cetra – their culture, their accomplishments, their religion, and their abilities – the single greatest constant is their twinned facility and obligation for communing with the Planet. It was no great leap of intuition to discern that, not only did I lack this trait, I appear to lack even the limited attunement that humans can develop with sufficient conditioning."

He kept his voice level and even, his inflection only shifting enough to keep his audience engaged. His hands fanned out at his sides, as if to encompass the surrounding verdure in his recitation. He softened his voice, carefully tuning the twinge of anger into a distant sort of grief.

"I am not one of Her children, nor – clearly – even one of her bastards; no botanical endeavor would change that." He paused, capturing her eyes with his, hands dropping to his sides. "Imagine having the care of a beloved pet that was unable or unwilling to convey its needs to you in even the most rudimentary of ways. Imagine a wounded animal, too frightened to let you shelter it." He extended his right hand towards her, palm at forty five degrees, fingers ever so slightly curled. "Imagine being the one who could bridge that gap."

She shied away from that hand. The ingrained impulse to trust an outstretched hand was overshadowed by the far greater instinct of revulsion. It was as if the devil himself was stretching out a claw, whispering for her to trust him even as chanting voices cried out about his burning, violent rage.

"You say that ... but I know there's no greater threat to the planet than you." Her eyes jerked up to his. "How can you compare her to anything you love, when you know what I saw? Do you think I wouldn't remember Meteor? That you were willing to crack the planet open and feast on her essence to fuel your ascension? What about Geostigma?” she demanded. “When you were willing to ..." her hands came up to her chest, fingers curling, then flying open as she thrust them downward, "to use a virus as a steering wheel so you could drive what would become the husk of this world to find a new one?"

She shook her head. "You say you love her, but you're wrong. That's not what love looks like. I don't know what you're really after, but I know if I believe any lies you feed me about being a force for greater good, it won't be the planet's best interests that are served in the end."

_Steering wheel._

Geostigma, a steering wheel. Such an ironically pedestrian description, yet the very incongruity of the image... He very nearly chuckled, but – once again – she'd presented a misapprehension to be corrected.

He slowly broke eye contact. Relying on social conditioning had been a long shot; one he was perversely relieved had not worked.

"I have not lied to you." He thought back, memories of each loop whipping through his awareness at a speed even he once could not have processed. This was important; he had to be sure.

"... Ever. I won't claim all my cards are on the table, but bluffing is beneath me. I'm not at all content with the hand we've been dealt. To draw another, to defy Fate and change things so completely, well ... I need an ace."

He hadn't intended to dive that deep into the metaphor, but at least it came out coherent. He'd remember that one; he might need it again.

"Alright, but ... how am I to trust what you'll do with your winnings?” she asked him, matching his metaphor with a whimsical continuation of her own. “I wouldn't want to help a man win at cards if he was going to use the money to go buy a bunch of kittens and eat them. And you ... everything I've seen, everything I feel when I look at you suggests you won't think so small, Sephiroth." She gave him a bright, flippant smile. "For all I know, you could want to use your winnings to go out and eat the entire _world._ " Her smile faded. "That ... might be a whole lot less metaphorical than I'd like."

It was becoming evident that appealing to her better nature relied on her belief that he himself possessed one. However diverting the exchange, it was starting to feel like he was wasting his time. A younger, simpler Sephiroth might have run his hands through his hair, paced, or even raised his voice.

Instead, he held up three fingers.

"I've long since hit the point of diminishing returns on that plan. What power and knowledge I could gain by doing so again would be drops in the ocean that I now am.” Sephiroth curled one finger.

Aerith felt cold. It said a lot that he clearly found this argument reassuring. _‘Sure I could destroy the world, but you’re being so silly for assuming I could gain something from it right now,’_ she thought in mental voice that underwent a pitch-shift to make it a comedic approximation of Sephiroth’s.

To make matters worse, he’d just said, ‘what power he could gain by doing so _again._ ’ All without the least change of expression of the merest flicker of remorse. This was doing nothing to reassure her he was _at all_ going to make good decisions with whatever knowledge she gave him. But Sephiroth was still talking. "If my 'problem' were a thing I could resist by means of raw power, I would have at least attempted to do so by now. Power will not solve _this_ problem, for all the other doors it opens." He curled the second finger.

Alright. Obviously, he was trying to sell the narrative that he didn’t need to resort to such forceful solutions like DESTROYING THE WORLD _..._ WHICH HE HAD ALREADY APPARENTLY DONE AT LEAST ONCE.

No, apparently he wanted to convince her a softer touch was needed. Which was fine ... until he got his answers. Then what? What if the answers he sought led him to the conclusion – she adopted the pitch-shifted approximation of Sephiroth’s voice again, _‘Hm. I’ve been going at this all wrong. In order to solve my problem, I need to destroy the world this_ _ **particular**_ _way!’_

"And _if_ I were entertaining this notion in the face of that litany of irrelevance _and_ futility,” Sephiroth continued, making her bristle slightly – was that litany in reference to his trials or to her, to be honest, completely reasonable concerns? “I would not require your help to do so."

Aerith stared at that single finger now hanging in her face and fought down the nearly overwhelming bratty instinct to bite it. _No, brain; stop trying to get me killed. I want to live._ Thankfully, he curled the final finger, folding them into a light fist. "And I'm coming to suspect that there is nothing I could do to persuade you of my sincerity. However..." he trailed off, his features taking on the attitude of a thoughtful expression.

"Well that's not obvious bait or anything," Aerith teased before she could stop herself. She shut her mouth. She really was going to get herself killed.

But her sass apparently would not be contained. In utter, impulsive, and lamentable defiance of common sense, she had reached out to tuck a white Camellia into the straps of his harness. If he really did have ‘extensive knowledge of the cultural symbolism of plants,’ she hoped he would appreciate the dry commentary of its message: “Oh you’re so adorable.”

Of course, if he really _did_ have extensive knowledge of the cultural symbolism of plants, then she was probably about, oh ... septuple-dead at this point.

_That_ took him back. He hadn't been well and truly flabbergasted since he'd seen that ridiculous compound sword split into half a dozen blades that shouldn't have fit within it.

And, just like all those years ago, he stood and stared as something utterly absurd happened to him.

The gentle snap of his harness as she released the tension broke the spell, and he was several meters away before his mind decided that yes, it was in fact still on duty and there was indeed someone driving this truck full of boxed apocalypse.

He was in control – and he could salvage this.

"Presumptuous little thing, aren't you?"

_Nailed it._

As he awaited her response, his accumulated knowledge supplied the meaning of the white flower: adoration.

Was she mocking him? Did she think he longed for the days of his youth, when he was Shinra's darling? Did she expect this reference to his past to infuriate him? Worse, had _she_ been a member of that farcical 'Silver Elite' fan club?

The distant corner of his mind that sheltered memories of poker games, sword-throwing competitions, and youthful ignorance quietly hoped that Zack hadn't known.

Was this woman so convinced of his perfidy that she was trying to goad him into scuttling his admittedly nascent plans by killing her? _Ha, never again, little Cetra._ He'd learned that lesson well.

His face otherwise a mask of stillness, one aristocratic brow slowly arched. "And even by your reckoning, that's a good five years too late."

Aerith was _not_ leaning back in terror from the display of utterly inhuman speed as if she'd just been half blown over by an eldritch hurricane. She was just ... taking on a new posture to better appreciate her impending doom. Nevermind her brain was currently supplying her with an unending, unhelpful chant of, _Aaaaaaaaaaaaa ..._

Words. She needed to use words to handle this situation.

"It's ... five years too late to tease you for dramatic utterances? But I thought you'd gotten so much more practice since then."

_Hah, nailed it._

Her hand came up to rub the back of her neck, bracelets jingling, a bit chagrined – thankfully the little extra weight was _not_ enough to make her topple over. "In retrospect, I probably should have just said 'that's cute' and made the message more clear." Those were _not_ wobbles and squeaks in her voice. Just ... slightly new and creative intonations. She was a positive linguistic inventor, yes she sure was.

_You know, when you think, 'Huh, maybe this thing could make me septuple-dead,' that might in future be the slightest hint you should not do the thing._

Her first hints of the darkening of his mood was when the resonance around him changed. The frantic symphony died away and she heard the toll of a warning bell. Then the deep pulse of a heartbeat, much slower than her own. Then came the deep and sinister undercurrent of strings. All the while, the gothic choir had changed to the vocalizing of a low, ominous chant. It was a theme more terrifying and fell than what had come before, but it was the type of terror that froze one to the spot instead of igniting the drive to flee – and was all the more perilous for it.

"I see. I've been going about this wrong. You won't be persuaded, nor recruited. It's not in your nature. You're a martyr, and here I am telling you I won't kill you. Clearly, it's gone to your head."

He turned, glancing towards Sector 7. "Do you know what's going to happen, there? In ... about a week?"

Aerith stiffened. " _No_ ..." But it wasn't denial. She saw it, in all its terrible, horrifying carnage. She looked up at the demon whose presence sang against her senses like the melody of malevolence itself. "Why? Are you going to threaten to do the same here if I don't agree to help you?"

He closed the distance, repaying her invasion of his personal space with interest. His voice was soft, almost conversational, but he couldn't quite keep something predatory from it. "I found it _fascinating_ that every time I bothered to check, you do _exactly the same thing_. You always go to save the girl, you are always too late getting out, and you always make a deal with Tseng."

His lips curled in something that could almost be a smile. "Of devils to deal with, he's at least an honest one. But oh, _such_ a deal ... For one life – just the one – you deliver yourself through him into the least trustworthy hands I can think of, for as long as it takes to extricate you."

He was almost purring, now. "When you're lucky, it's a few days. Sometimes, it's a week. Once, it was a month.” Bile rose in her mouth and she nearly doubled over, fighting against overwhelming nausea as her imagination supplied her with the full extent of the horrors and degradations implicit in that fate. Sephiroth’s voice almost surrounded her, above her and to every side. “All for one. Little. Girl."

Between one breath and the next, he was behind her. Her first awareness was of his fingers curling around her shoulders to keep her from turning, before her eyes could even catch up with his absence. "How many people would you say live there? Between the plate, and the slums? Not counting anyone who may be visiting."

Aerith was shaking now. There was no hiding it; he'd be able to feel it traveling up her arms. The answer hummed in her brain, engraved in memories of appalling calamity. "Over 50,000," she whispered, so quiet as to be barely heard.

She swallowed and looked back up at him. "We'll stop it. This time, we'll save them."

"Will you? All those lives ... Can you really conceptualize them? As individuals, not just ... a number, a crowd? I can. I want you to try, too, and then I want you to tell me, if you'll give yourself to -" there was a brief pause, but the word came out in nearly the same tone, “ _Hojo_ for the sake of one life, what will you do to save fifty thousand?"

Her breath shuddered. Then she tilted her head back, looked up at him, and managed a sudden sunny smile. "Well then. You said there's nothing you can't do, right? So it doesn't matter whether I give you my answer now or tomorrow or in the last hour. You're _so_ powerful; you can just swoop in whenever you feel like and handle the whole thing!" She beamed at him and studiously ignored the fact her body was trembling against his like ripples in the water.

"You are surprisingly comfortable gambling with their lives." His lips curled into a smug smirk. "You're colder than I thought." He was across the bridge and halfway down the path before she could turn, his voice thrumming in her ears, "I'll be seeing you, flower girl."

* * *

As Sephiroth approached the edge of the property, several ghostly Arbiters appeared, swirling and milling about in confusion. “You’re too late,” he told them with a self-satisfied smirk. They said familiarity bred contempt, but Sephiroth had never required such scaffolding.

It was pointless, of course. They weren’t even really sapient. They were like worker ants, carrying out the grander will of Fate. They never seemed quite sure how to interact with him. He was from outside of their time, a being not a part of their cycle. That was how he was able to keep one step ahead of them. While they could sense when something was about to happen in a manner not in accordance with their grand design, it always took them a little while to realize what he was doing.

He was certain they would like to erase him if they could. But he was too powerful for these whispers of the grander Fate to handle. Yet there was always an inherent danger in confronting Fate too directly. If he ever lost, he wouldn’t just die. He would be unmade. That was where agents like Cloud were so ... invaluable. Someone to fight the inevitable battle for him. Someone the Arbiters couldn’t win against, since to erase them would mean Fate couldn’t enact its intended design. Sephiroth wasn’t even truly sure if the shackles of Fate could really be broken by someone not of its cycle. Even as he set up the dominos for a different end, the Arbiters always tried to herd their chosen party along the same path. The moment when the grasp of Fate truly fell away completely was when that party realized they could not deal with him unless they reacted to what he was actually doing. That was when the true confrontation with Fate would begin.

* * *

Aerith heard the ghostly wail and looked up to see several spectral grey robes flitting about in agitation.

_Nope._

She quickened her pace, comfortable brown combat boots clomping across the bridge as she almost ran back towards the security of her house. _Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope._ This was a bridge too far. A straw too much. She was not dealing with any more of this tonight.

* * *

Sephiroth’s temporary body was almost back to its resting place before he realized he had acted rather more like the object of one of those workplace sensitivity videos than he’d intended. There had always been a lot of them floating around, after Shinra had started requiring digital confirmation they had been viewed and Scarlet had started trying to pawn them off to be watched by literally anyone else. The thought brought a twinge of discomfort – more at the loss of control evident by not realizing what he was doing than anything else.

Oh well. She would be okay.

“I am not okay!” Aerith wailed into the pillow in her room.

She had handled everything he’d thrown at her surprisingly, almost intriguingly well.

“I thought I was going to diiiiie!”

“Aerith, sweetie?” Elmyra’s muffled query floated up from downstairs. “Where’s my cooking sherry?”

“Don’t aaaaaask!”

Her self-control was ... remarkable.

“... Is the baking brandy with the cooking cherry?”

“Not now, mom!”

He was used to people responding to fear by running away, capitulating, or transforming it into anger. He’d never seen someone maintain the cool-headedness to continue pricking and needling him while so obviously terrified.

“Why couldn’t I stop pricking and needling him; that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever dooooone!”

“Aerith?” Elmyra’s voice held a real tinge of worry to it. Aerith heard the creak of the stairs as the voice came closer. “Is everything alright?”

“Just fine mom!” Aerith did _not_ slur. “I’m just an irrepressible bundle of sass!” _In fact this sass train has no breaks. Help._

He was, of course, annoyed she had manipulated him into a corner. He’d been caught between either needing to admit there was something beyond his power or ending the conversation there. He had chosen the option that allowed him to deliver the last word on his terms.

Plan A was ... on hold. Pending Intelligence. Under construction. Plan B, if none of it worked and he looped again ... move earth sky to drag the Cetra girl back with him. She'd entertained him more in the past hour than the last few loops had in their entirety.

Plan A _would_ proceed, though. He was sure of it. She wouldn't be able to fight her nature. He just had to let the anticipation and worry build, and give her plenty of opportunities to take him up on his bargain. In the meantime ...

Sephiroth was struck by the amused observation that two highly concentrated sets of Jenova cells were now right next to each other. Letting his consciousness quest out, he came to the delightful discovery that one of his potential bodies was now bunking right next to Cloud!

Well, well. It seemed like he was positively spoiled for potential entertainment over the coming days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By pure coincidence, after this was written but before it was posted, we ran into a piece of art that somehow perfectly captures a scene from this chapter. It is linked here by permission of the artist. This is not our work, nor did we commission it, but we encourage you to peruse their twitter for more like it.  
> https://twitter.com/AlexineSkiba/status/1254834850734977031


	3. Improvisation

Aerith stumbled out of the house the next morning with the bleary conviction that someone had turned up the sun-lamps much too bright.

A wafting grey cloak brushed against her arm and she straightened in alarm. She fixed a smile on her face, trying to arrange her posture into one of winsome gaiety. She was supposed to be a sweet, innocent, and happy force in the community. She couldn’t let anyone see her like this.

She saw the grey cloak depart and fought down a sense of despair. They were trying to regulate her _behavior_ now? She wasn’t allowed to look frightened if she was frightened or hung-over if she was hung-over? She had to conform to a cheerful and virtuous image because she couldn’t have the _appearance_ of being anything else? She supposed they probably objected to her consuming alcohol at all. Her fists clenched on the handle of her basket. She was a grown woman, darn it! There wasn’t anything wrong about it. It was honestly a perfectly natural reaction to events of the previous night. That and the meltdown. And the couple hours of lying wrapped in her fuzziest blanket, crooning about how fuzzy it was. That and the alcohol _might_ have shared a relation.

Aerith shook her head and firmed her step. Today, she wasn’t just an adult; she was a woman with a mission. There were over 50,000 people in the Sector 7 slums. There were at least 10,000 people on the plate above it. All those people were counting on her. She had to warn Avalanche about Shinra’s planned retaliation.

As her pace quickened, she was faced with the enormity of the task before her. She had until she reached Seventh Heaven to come up with a cover story for how she could have possibly learned about Shinra’s plan. Fortunately, she had a decent amount of time.

She hadn’t gone half way to the borders of Sector 5 when grey cloaks rose up in a wall in front of her.

“Hey!”

She tried to run, putting on a burst of speed to get around them. Arbiters swooped in from either side to block her path. She turned and bolted along a path down a side alley, but skidded to a halt, boots kicking up a shower of scree that leaped up to knock against her light skirts before falling back to the earth. There, in front of her, was another wall of Arbiters. They circled dispassionately about her, leaving no opening for her but the one back the way she came.

“Don’t you understand?” she called to them in frustration. “Thousands of people are going to die! I have to stop it!”

An Arbiter drifted past, hood not even turning to her as it continued its hemming patrol.

“It’s no use.”

She scarcely needed the swelling of chords to know who it was. She turned to see Sephiroth stepping into the open behind her. He lifted a hand and swirled it through the billowing Arbiters like he might through smoke, watching the patterns as they roiled around him. “Like so many forces in life – the tides, the seasons, the storm – Fate is dispassionate. It cares not whether you be crushed into dust.” His long fingers curled through the trailing smoke. “All it cares for is to be what it is.”

Aerith paused, then gave him an impudently polite curtsy. “Didn’t think to see you out in direct sunlight. I would have thought that pale skin of yours would develop a dreadful case of sunburn.” She managed – just – to prevent herself from booping his nose. Instead she just gave the impression of it with an air-boop several inches away. She did not make the mistake of touching him again. His head still gave the slightest twitch backwards at the proximity.

“I, however, did expect to see you trying to defy Fate with your tiny means.”

“Hey!” she made a face at him, “My means are strong!” She brought up a slender arm and flexed it.

“Hmf.” He smirked. “So I see.”

“You know,” she said, lowering her arm. The Arbiters were dissipating now, she started to see. “ _You_ could keep the plate from dropping just on a whim.”

“I could. Have you considered accepting my deal?”

“You _could_ just save those people anyway.”

“Ah, but what would be in it for me?”

“It would be the right thing to do.”

His lip twitched. “I thought I was a monster.”

She gave him an exaggerated pout. Then, before anyone could possibly predict what she would do, abruptly she turned and made a dash towards Sector 7. A rushing torrent of Arbiters flooded down in front of her. “Oh!” She thought of using another of her colorful four-letter words. But, it was starting to look like if she kept bringing them out when they were appropriate, she’d be using them all the time. “Urgh!” She stamped her foot.

Sephiroth was watching her with an amused expression.

“Why couldn’t I offer to make a deal with you instead,” she told the swirling Arbiters.

Sephiroth shook his head. “Fate accepts no equals. Either you submit or are its master.”

It _was_ a poetic line, she grudgingly had to admit. _What, did he have someone constantly read classics to him until he got the delivery?_ she thought crankily.

She really needed to stop having petty reactions like ‘cranky’ and ‘bratty’ around That Which Consumed the Calamity from the Stars.

“Well, I’m not ready to give up yet,” she told him, fluffing her flowers so they lay more artistically in her basket after being jostled around. She held up a finger in a more comical take on a grand pronouncement and announced, “Though fate and future and the forces of Shinra all stand against me, I shall find a way through!”

An Arbiter brushed against her cheek and she instinctively cringed away. As it touched her, she felt a little piece of herself wilt. She ... served the will of the planet first, right? Maybe ... maybe what was supposed to happen was the best timeline. Maybe ... her willfulness wasn’t a virtue.

There was a whoosh of air and a sudden, sharp slicing sound. The Arbiter dissipated. Aerith found herself looking at a long, long span of razor steel next to her cheek.

“None of that,” said Sephiroth. His voice was quiet, chiding. He wasn’t talking to her. “Let her make her own decisions. Even I would give her that.”

Aerith straightened slowly. Sephiroth gave Masamune a flourish and let his arm drop, blade flipping up behind his left arm.

“I thought you said it was pointless trying to persuade Fate,” she said, baiting him a little.

His lips twitched upwards in a smirk. “I said: either you submit to fate, or are its master.”

His form dissipated. As the black mist pulled away, it drew back from the withered form of a man in a black cloak who collapsed in the street with a moan. Aerith rushed forward to catch him. The body was light, wasted by malnourishment; a far cry from the fit, muscular form of Sephiroth. Beneath the hood, she saw skin nearly as white as his, but it had the unhealthy paleness of not having been exposed to the sun in ... possibly years. His robe was worn and torn. Through a rent on one shoulder, she spied a black tattoo of a number: 2.

The man sat up, lifting himself out of Aerith’s arms. A few moments later, he had shambled to his feet and was wandering aimlessly away, giving nothing but incoherent moans. Aerith watched him go, surprise warring with concern for the shell of a man used as a vessel for Sephiroth’s presence.

* * *

Aerith tried numerous times to thwart the agents of Fate. On the way home from selling flowers on the upper plate, she even tried something as simple as staying on the train a few stops longer. She casually rested her head against the side of her seat, eyes fluttered closed, as if she had just drifted off. Nothing out of the ordinary here; just someone who might have might have missed her stop and, oh dear, might need to get off at another station to catch a different train home.

Fate, apparently, wasn’t fooled. As the doors opened to Sector 5, she felt a gust of wind build up around her. She was picked up and bodily thrust through the doors, stumbling out into the station before she could have anything to do with it.

“Hey!” She spun about and tried to dive back onto the train car, but the hood of an Arbiter was now right in her face. Her eyes narrowed and her lip twitched in the merest hint of a snarl. She was no puppet to be jerked around on strings.

Jumping back, she reached for her collapsible staff. She had no idea what the people around her were seeing, but to her eyes, the world went grey, leached of its vibrancy and cast with a blue sheen as she started to step onto Fate’s domain.

With a flick of the wrist, Aerith’s staff snapped open. Hollow metal tubes slid along each other and clicked into place. The resulting light, flexible pole was a poor offensive weapon, able to break a hand but not crack a skull. However, Aerith wasn’t about to use it like a quarter staff. To her, its primary utility was as an aetheric scoop. She didn’t need Materia to cast all of her magic.

Aerith unleashed a bolt of ice, blasting the Arbiter in her way. It dissipated like the whisping away of crumbling ash, but three more swooped in to take its place.

“Mind backing off a bit?” Aerith quipped, then planted her staff and summoned a ring of lightning. The three Arbiters were fried into oblivion, but suddenly more appeared. Aerith tossed up a crystal of power, letting it hang in the air as she gathered her energy. Then she unleashed it, letting the crystal explode outward, catching all the Arbiters in its blast radius. At least, all the Arbiters she’d been able to see. More and more poured in, circling around her, hemming her in. Then, abruptly, they dispersed, each flying away in their own direction. There was a _ding_ and the door of the train slid quietly shut. There was a rumble of tracks as the train departed the station.

Aerith dropped her arms to her sides, staff drooping in limp, dejected fingers as she let out a shuddering breath. Even with her head bowed and weighted down, she saw color returning to the world around her. They didn’t even need to defeat her to defeat her. Just delay, distract, and prevent her from being in the right place at the right time to make a difference.

Retracting the staff, she turned with heavy step and started in the direction of the abandoned church deep in the slums. She needed to think and pray to the planet for guidance.

As she passed by someone she knew and saw him raise his hand in greeting, she felt the whisper of an Arbiter brush across her back. Her attention focused on the way the man’s smile was starting to fade as he began to take in her dejected appearance. She jerked upright and gave him a perky smile along with a little wave of greeting. The man’s expression relaxed and he turned back to what he was doing, seemingly warmed by the casual interaction but otherwise not giving her a second thought. The Arbiter flew away.

Aerith’s growing depression turned to anger. What, it wasn’t enough that she follow the script, she had to perform as well?

_Smile._ The thought was expressed with a tiny snarl. _‘If you just look happy, it’ll make you feel better!’_ It was a sentiment she absolutely despised. Of course that wasn’t what happened. It just meant nobody else had to _realize_ she was unhappy.

_‘How could you be so selfish, Aerith? You’re making us feel ..._ _**uncomfortable.** _ _’_

_Well boo-de-woo-hoo. Maybe, I have a legitimate reason for feeling unhappy. Maybe that reason is large enough, I don’t have the energy to worry about a moment of mildest, fleeting discomfort when I can expect everyone else to be_ _**adults** _ _and put in the emotional labor for themselves._

She wasn’t even thinking of dumping all her troubles on someone else. She just ... wanted to look how she felt. She was exhausted from her conversational sparring with Sephiroth and from the effort of trying to think around the Arbiters all day. Couldn’t she just, please, have a moment of peace?

There was a thematic shift in the winds behind her.

_Estuans interius ..._

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.” She raised her voice. “Unless you want me to make you a crown of butterfly weed in the most obnoxious orange I can find, leave me alone.”

“Hmh.” She didn’t even need to see the smirk, drat him; she could hear it in his voice. “Butterfly weed ... A message of, ‘Let me go,’ I believe.”

She gave him her most brittlely courteous smile. “Or as put more colloquially: ‘ _Go away.’_ ”

He did not take the hint, subtle as a hammer though it was. “Hm, if I were trying to craft a message of dismissal, I would have expected something like a yellow carnation.”

“ ‘Disdain? Disappointment? Rejection?’ ” She gave him her best dry and sassy look. “Please, let’s not be so dramatic. For you? Oh ... I think the common nature of butterfly weed is a much more appropriate message.” She noticed he still had the white camellia tucked into the straps of his harness. “Hey, you’re still wearing my flower!”

“Hm?” He glanced downward. “Ah, yes ... I was curious how long until it would wilt. I’m vaguely surprised it wasn’t instantaneous.”

Something niggling to her as off – more off than usual – about their procession made her look down. He wasn’t leaving footprints in the dirt. A part of her chilled. Did the planet reject him that much?

“You’re not _that_ bad at handling flowers,” she teased. Because, yes, teasing was the best way to handle this situation. “You _are_ actually here, right?” she added, too curious not to ask. “I’d almost think you were some vision, if not for the flower. You were definitely physical then.” Plus, she reflected, he’d been holding the teacup. “But that doesn’t tell me anything about what you are now.”

“Hmf.” His lip twitched. “You’re asking the wrong questions.” He spread his arms outward with a casual flick, encompassing the whole world in a single, grandiose gesture. “I am everywhere there are Jenova cells. Every SOLDIER, every paltry attempt at a ‘copy.’ You remember Geostigma, I gather?”

“Yes.”

“A unique event. But, useful to consider for this explanation.

“Jenova is a sentient virus. No longer sapient – your ancestors are to thank for that – which is why my will was able to so easily subsume what was left of hers. Like any virus, Jenova can use living things to create more of itself.”

His lip twitched slightly. “Unfortunately, from the perspective of a virus, while it is no less virulent than certain terrestrial diseases, it is not as ideally adapted to infecting creatures of this planet as I would have chosen if I were to design it from the ground up. It lacks a multitude of transmission vectors – airborne, touch ... Its primarily liquid-based transmission is vulnerable to certain Cetra-based defenses this planet has developed over time.” He smiled at her. “Furthermore, being not just a thing that eats and reproduces, but something guided by an overarching mind, its sentience comes into conflict with the minds of its hosts. A person with sufficiently strong will is almost immune to its influence, as you are doubtless aware.”

“However ... it has one great advantage. It is uniquely – in fact one might say unprecedentedly ... memetic. The one thing Jenova can do better than anything else is pass on information. Where it exists in sufficient concentration, under command of a sapient mind, it can even mold form. Thus, it can take control of a living body or shape a vessel from raw biomass with equal ease.”

He smiled. “That was Jenova. Now, little florist, take all that knowledge of how Jenova works and what it can do and recall: I have _subsumed_ it.” He paused, watching her face as she processed just what that word meant – and _all_ its implications. At last, he tilted his head. “So,” he finished, wrapping up, “what you are seeing now is a form with sufficient concentration of Jenova cells shaped into a construct of my image. I am many places, not just here. But, what _you_ are seeing is no hallucination.”

Aerith fought down a nauseous feeling of horror. “So, that man I saw, he’s the foundation for this body?”

“Yes.”

“Let him go!”

Sephiroth blinked at her. Aerith had stopped in the street and her hands were balled at her sides. “Release him, right now!”

“... Can you elaborate on that?”

“You’re possessing that man, right? Because you’ve infected him? Let him go! No one deserves to – to have their free will overwritten like that!”

“Ah. I fear you misunderstand. I did not _seize_ this body. This body _is_ mine.”

“Why? Because you infected him?”

“Because there is nothing of ‘him’ left. Just a body, some rudimentary instincts for self-preservation, and some tattered remnants of ... habit. Like a ghost. At best, it may be drawn to things that had significance to it in life. But all that is left is a fading echo.”

“That’s horrible!”

“Yes. But I would have you remember, I am not responsible for the Shamblers being in such a state. That was done by a purely, natural, _human_ hand.” His smile was knife edged. “For _greed_. I merely ... _benefit_ from their utter lack of understanding of the situation.”

“Oh ...” She resumed walking and was silent for a couple of steps. “... I’m sorry.”

He glanced over at her and quirked an eyebrow. “No witty sarcasm?”

She held up a finger. “It’s important to apologize when you’re wrong, even if the one you’ve wronged is the devil himself!”

“The devil himself, hm?” He looked amused.

“Mmm, more like an outer demi-god in this case.”

“Demi?”

“Look, why are you here?”

A noctiferous chuckle. “I take it by your various displays you haven’t reconsidered my offer.”

“Nnnope. So why are you here?”

His smile was deeply alarming. “Because these few days are boring and Cloud is ...” his feline eyes grew distant for a minute. “... in the midst of an utterly tedious heartfelt conversation with his childhood friend, full of reminiscence and bonding. I could amuse myself by interrupting it, of course, but I have absolutely no interest in Cloud’s relationships. Dealing with you is more entertaining by far.”

“I’m not a mouse for you to bat around, you know.”

“Did I ever accuse you of being one?”

“No, but ... You’re playing with me and ...” she gestured to her face. “The eyes.”

“Hm. A poor metaphor. A cat will play with a small creature until it is broken, then wonder why it isn’t fun any more. I have more foresight.” He gave her another small smile.

“Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“... Yes.” He said the word like it was obvious.

“You have a strange view of comforting.”

“Blame my upbringing.”

He stopped. Aerith realized they were at the steps of the church. As she took a few more strides and he didn’t follow, an idea started percolating through her head. Could he ... not enter the church?

It was a place of power. One sanctified by the close proximity of the planet’s holy touch. Maybe ... maybe that power repelled him. She glanced at the church doors, then down at him, and a smile grew on her face. A place of peace from him at last!

“Well, it’s been fun!” she lied. “Bye!” She skipped merrily inside and congratulated herself on a job well done.

Sephiroth watched the flower girl prance into the church and suppressed an amused smile. He had been concerned, for a moment, that his sudden pause when the casual mention of his upbringing slipped out might clue her in to start probing into topics he did not wish to discuss. But instead, he’d seen the wheels turning in her head. Leading to ... an entirely incorrect conclusion. It was lucky they had been so close to her destination.

Oh how pleased she had looked at the thought he might be repelled by the church. Just watching her act under that assumption was diverting enough to make up for the loss of entertainment from her absence. He scoffed a bit at the notion. _Please. I’m not a vampire._

It was almost insulting to think he somehow was prevented from entering a place filled with power from a source he’d defeated multiple times before. Yet ... it could be so much fun to watch where the assumption took her.

Abandoning this body for the moment and letting it stumble off, Sephiroth settled down to wait.

Aerith relaxed as Sephiroth’s accompanying chorus was drowned out by the gentle melody of the sanctuary. She moved over to the patch of flowers growing through the floorboards, kneeling down to tend them. Just because something was natural didn’t mean it didn’t need some care.

As she worked, she thought. What would happen, she wondered, if she forced a confrontation with the Arbiters where a delay wouldn’t be enough to stop her? What if she just marched for Sector 7 and didn’t allow them to halt her this time?

But ... was that even possible? She thought about the way the Arbiters seemed to be trying to steal a little bit of her self every time they touched her. Attempting to make her more like ... well, more like that other Aerith. The one from her visions.

She was uniquely vulnerable to the Arbiters. Her knowledge, gifted by her unique connection to the planet, was inherently dangerous and so they’d seek to prune her more aggressively. _Just like ..._ she plucked a few leaves from a lily plant. _Just like I am attempting to prune this flower._ In both cases, they were trying to shape the flower’s growth for its own good. But while Aerith was concerned about making it happy and healthy, the Arbiters were concerned with forcing it into an unnatural shape. One that didn’t quite fit this Aerith.

She felt a burble of distress. Was the other Aerith ... somehow inherently better? Was she deficient in some way? An inferior copy of some sublime original?

The sun sparkled on water droplets on the leaves. She felt the peace of the planet buoy her up. In the end, such thoughts were ... well, were irrelevant. After all, thought didn’t have an impact unless it was used to provoke action. So what was she going to do?

She couldn’t be the one to confront the Arbiters directly. Not on her own. But ... but others could fight the Arbiters. Cloud, Tifa, and the others ... they didn’t have her unique connection to the planet. Any knowledge they gained was by building one linear experience on top of another on top of another, like any being. Unless the Arbiters wanted to re-write them entirely, they were resistant to anything but the most blunt-force of changes. And force was something they could meet in kind.

Aerith would have to be subtle. She would play the Arbiters’ game and allow events to unwind as they should, looking for an opportunity. Soon enough, she would be in her friends’ presence anyway. Then all it would take was the right minor change at the right moment and the Arbiters couldn’t stop the cascade of effects. Even just getting to the pillar a few minutes faster would be enough to prevent the demolition from happening. She didn’t need to do much. It would be a delicate dance. But of all evils, she’d chose the one with the slim chance for working out alright in the end.

She had work to do.


	4. Trepidation

Aerith woke up filled with resolve and verve. She’d had a good night’s sleep, the day was glorious, she had a plan, and she was topped up on energy thanks to Elmyra’s delicious baking! This was going to be a good day. Gathering up her flower basket, she proceeded to pull open the door –

_SEPHIROTH!_

– and immediately shut it.

Aerith took a deep, steadying breath. Then she opened the door again.

_Estuans interius –_

Aerith promptly slammed it shut once more.

“Sweety, is something wrong with the door?”

“Everything’s fine, mom!”

He was waiting for her in the garden, drat him. Well, she could deal with that. Opening the door again – ignoring the blasting of his presence – she shouted cheerily in the direction of the garden, “The answer’s still no!” Then she closed the door before there could be any answer.

“Honey, I’m worried about you.” Aerith turned around to see Elmyra standing behind her, looking concerned. “You’ve been acting strange ever since the general showed up.” Her hands fisted in her apron. “I know ... I know sometimes you can see things that I can’t. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Aerith’s heart turned over. Oh no; she couldn’t be having this conversation now. She hesitated, then smiled and took Elmyra’s hands. “Trust me ... okay?”

Elmyra gazed at her with love warring with confusion. “Al ... alright ...”

“I have to go, Mom.”

“But ...”

Aerith squeezed her hands. “Trust me.” Then she turned and skipped out the front door with an irrepressible attitude of happiness before Elmyra could stop her.

Thank the Goddess, Sephiroth was gone by time she stepped out into the glow of the sun lamps. However, she was only half way to the train station when she heard a melodic shift again. This time, though, it wasn’t any one of Sephiroth’s themes. Instead, it was something dismaying in its familiarity. Four distinct notes were plucked in a drawl across the strings of an electric guitar. It was accompanied by the sound of a rhythmic snapping of fingers. It was a theme that suggested black suits, cool men, and high pay for dirty deeds.

“Hey, Aerith! Long time no see.”

Aerith felt her heart sink. _Oh no. It’s too soon._

The young male voice had nearly the same lazy drawl as the guitar, Aerith thought to herself as she turned reluctantly. It was indeed a black suit. The lanky fellow wearing it had brilliant, spiky red hair. Red tattoos formed a slash under his eyes, in a hue Aerith had always personally thought clashed more with his hair than accentuated it. For all the snazziness of his attire, he had a sort of rumpled, unprofessional look to him. He had entirely unregulation goggles pushed up on the top of his forehead. His shirt was half unbuttoned. He was also – of course – wearing gloves. _You always have to wear gloves, you see, so when you get your hands dirty, you don’t REALLY get your hands dirty._

This Turk, at least, wore fingerless gloves.

“Hello Reno!” She smiled as brightly for him as she had smiled for Sephiroth. “Have you come to buy a flower?”

Reno lazily expelled a sharp “tsk” of air through his teeth out the side of his mouth. “Tsk, nah. The girl I’m into already has so many flowers, she’s selling them for cash.”

“The answer’s still no, but you’re a sweetheart and a charmer.”

“Thanks, clobber-boots. Speakin’ of clobberin’, you thought about that staff upgrade I mentioned? It’d be real easy to get you one with a nice retractable blade.”

Aerith shook her head, smiling. “I’ll pass.” She patted the collapsed pole. “Something like this? It’s marketed as a self-defense weapon. I’m guaranteed to be able to carry around with me when I go up on the plate. If I have something with a blade, who knows what might happen if I get stopped and searched?” The slums were allowed to have weapon shops galore; Shinra didn’t care if the people down there killed each other. But up on the plate, things were a lot more tightly controlled.

“Tsk. Your loss.”

“Are you here on work?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Nah. I’m on break today.” The slovenly posture lasted only a few moments, then he stretched, turning around as if taking in all the sights of the Sector 5 slums, before transitioning to an even more relaxed stance with his fingers laced behind his head. “Which is a good thing, because if I was working, I’d be forced to bring you in. The Turks have been given orders that it’s time.”

“ _What?_ ” She stared at him. “But, we had an agreement –”

“Listen, Aerith.” He turned back around to face her and some of his almost-trying-too-hard attempt to be casual and cool dropped away. “Things’ve changed since the bombing of Mako Reactor 1. Tseng sent me to tell you, the higher ups are suddenly focusin’ a lot of attention on this so-called Promised Land.”

“I thought the consensus was they needed my consent, or I was useless to them!”

Reno gave another, frustrated “tsk” and shook his mane of hair. “Look, I dunno anything about any of that. But all I know is, folks are giving some pretty clear implications they’re not above squeezin’ you a little if it gets what they want.” He curled his fingers into a fist, gloves creaking with the distinctive sound of rubbing leather. “Tseng’s running interference, but I’m not sure how much longer he can keep it up. Particularly if you keep wandering away from home so we can’t keep track of you.”

“I have a life, you know.”

“You’re not gonna if you wind up in a specimen tank. People are startin’ to think you being able to run off at any time and get into who knows what danger is more trouble than just stickin’ you in a box and trying to tease cooperation out of you then.”

Reno shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked forward and back on his heels. “Look ... I’ve always been sweet on you, you know that, right? Even if I’m not the guy for you, it doesn’t change that. So just ... take this warning for what it is.” He glanced up at her. “You might want to start saying your goodbyes.” His expression, when he looked at her, was briefly pitying. “Go home. Spend some time with Elmyra. It’s the least I can do.”

He stretched, swiftly returning to his usual languid, devil-may-care attitude. “Well, it’s been fun. You know how I always love spendin’ my time off taking in the relaxing sights and –” he sniffed and wrinkled his nose “– smells of the Sector slums.”

“I know!” Aerith said cheerfully. “It’s such a step up from Shinra HQ, isn’t it?”

Reno smirked. “This is why I like you, clobber-boots. Still, it’s about time I get going.” He lifted two fingers in a “later” gesture, then proceeded to swagger off with an easy gait.

Aerith was left standing in the middle of the street, clutching her basket. Despite her final burst of spunk,she was left with the feeling of her world spinning; like a whirlpool of mud had opened up at her feet and was slowly sucking her down.

She had been so focused on the lives that needed saving in Sector 7. So focused on the 50,000 people in the slums, plus the at least 10,000 on the plate, that she hadn’t thought about ... her mom. All her focus on the timeline had been counting down until the destruction of the pillar – that was the final crisis point, that was the point of no return. She hadn’t realized, if all went according to Fate’s plan ... then it was even less time until the moment she would never see her mom again.

The day she would meet Cloud in the church. That was the last day. She would spend it in its entirety bonding with him, bringing him home at the end to meet her mom. There, Elmyra would request he leave that night in secret and never speak to Aerith again. Both mother and daughter would spend the evening pretending nothing was out of the ordinary. But that night, Aerith would sneak out to intercept Cloud. After that ...

She would never see her mother again.

She would guide Cloud to right outside Sector 7. She would have an intimate conversation with him, just long enough for them to spot the carriage carrying Tifa as it was heading towards Corneo’s Mansion. From there, it would be one long series of events – trying to get into the mansion, getting the information out of Corneo, then the mad dash back to Sector 7 in a desperate attempt to stop Shinra. It was there, while Avalanche was fighting to stop the destruction of the pillar, that she would make the deal with Tseng. As Marlene was delivered to safety, she would be transported directly to Shinra tower. There, she would wait to be rescued. But the rescue would wind up coming out of the building so hot, they would have to flee Midgar entirely.

She would never make it back before she died.

Aerith felt her throat choke up. Saw the world grow blurry for a reason having nothing to do with the presence of any Arbiters.

Aerith and her mother’s last interaction would be one of deception, each one pretending there was nothing wrong. And for the last day they would ever spend with each other, Aerith would spend almost all of it with someone else.

Aerith turned. Her boots kicked up dust as she started to move. Then her pink skirt was swishing about her legs as she ran. She ran and she ran until those “clobber-boots” were pounding across the bridge to her hide-away home. She only came to a halt as she reached the front porch. She pressed her forehead briefly against the outside of the door, closing her eyes. Then she opened it.

Elmyra looked up from the midst of her baking. “Aerith? Aren’t you supposed to be on the upper plate?” She came around the table, concern creasing her brow. “What’s wrong?”

Aerith closed the door and stood with her back against it for a moment. She was looking down, not quite able to meet Elmyra’s face yet, racking her brain for what to say. Careful, she had to be so careful now ... Her heart ached, but she knew one wrong statement could change Elmyra’s whole perspective – and would make the Arbiters come rushing in. She had to say just the right thing to avoid causing Elmyra to take any different actions later on.

The knowledge was like a jagged rent in her soul. Even now, their last tender moment had to have its roots in deception. Aerith swallowed a painful lump in her throat.

“Mom?” Her eyes flicked up briefly, meeting Elmyra’s face. “I’ve been thinking ... about the Reactor 1 bombing.” She wet her lips. Her voice strengthened as it went on, gaining confidence with the telling. “It made me realize ... how unpredictable life is. How easily something can just happen and you might just be ... snatched away.”

She saw her mom’s breath catch. There was another stab in Aerith’s heart and she knew Elmyra was thinking about her own husband. A love so casually snatched away in a far away land.

“Oh ... honey.” Elmyra came forward and took Aerith’s hands in her own. Aerith’s gaze flicked down, unable to bear it.

“I was thinking ...” Aerith’s hands gave a little bounce, squeezing her mom’s. She looked up again and smiled. “We should spend some time together. Just the two of us. I don’t need to go up to the plate today. We could have some ... mother-daughter time!”

Her mother looked at her with eyes shimmering with just a little hint of wetness. “I’d like that very much.”

Her arms wrapped around Aerith, holding her tight. One hand stroked her daughter’s long, brown hair. Aerith’s fingers curled against the front of her mom’s shirt.

“I love you, Mom,” she whispered. She felt her Elmyra’s arms squeeze her tight. She pressed her cheek against her mom’s chest, burying her face below the point where Elmyra could see the tears blurring her eyes. Elmyra’s hand continued to stroke her hair, soothing her daughter’s distress in a way only a mother could.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Aerith sniffed and straightened up, pulling back so she could smile at Elmyra despite her watery eyes. “Let’s –” She cleared her throat to get rid of the little hitch. “Let’s play that board game we always liked to play when I was a kid.”

Elmyra smiled back at her, hiding a little sniffle of her own. “I’d like that very much.”


	5. Interlude 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has sexually explicit content. If you do not wish to read smut, you may skip to the next chapter.

_“You are trying my patience.”_

_His voice whispered, almost a purr behind her. Aerith didn’t turn. His presence was like a shadow creeping up behind, where you almost didn’t quite want to see what it was. His own shadow made her heart beat faster._

_“Could it be I’ve been as blind as those wraiths? Kind Aerith, altruistic Aerith ... That’s just the face you show the world, isn’t it? Of_ _**course** _ _you’d desire something for yourself.”_

_A gloved hand wrapped around her throat, drawing a quiet gasp. No sooner had she voiced it then that hand lifted straight up, ruthlessly cutting off her air as her feet kicked and thrashed. One heel connected with his shin with a shock that ran up her leg – it was like kicking a marble column._

_Aerith fought for air, clutching at his wrist as her entire body-weight dangled from her throat. Her slender arms trembled with the effort of holding herself up, the only reason she could breathe at all. Her air puffed past his grip in ragged gasps. For all the weight she continued to exert, all her tugging and struggling, he continued to hold her aloft with a casual strength; an almost enthralling display of power._

_He waited until her head was spinning before he pulled her back against his chest at last. As her back pressed against his sculpted form, she could finally draw breath, but the arm that wrapped around her felt like a cell door slamming shut. She was trapped, completely at the mercy of a man who didn't know the meaning of the word._

_Two fingers framed her chin, also coming to rest across her pulse, which beat against them like the flutter of bird wings. “How fortunate, then, that I have other means of persuasion at my disposal.” His hand slid down her thigh, then back up her side, gliding over her breasts with the barest hint of pressure. “You don't have to suffer, Aerith.” His thumb dragged across her lips – she parted them without thinking, panting like a frightened animal._

_“Unless you want to, of course ...” The words thrummed in her ear before he bit down, teeth closing on her earlobe in a flash of pain that faded quickly into fuzzy heat. She whimpered, hating the show of weakness almost as much as the chuckle it won from her captor._

_His hand wandered lazily back down her body, leather whispering against fabric. “You know what Fate has in store for you,” he murmured. “Why submit to it when I,” it slipped between her thighs, palm cupping her through her dress, “can take such better care of you?”_

_The gloved fingers moved with sadistic skill, teasing her and taunting through the fabric. There was something almost contemptuously impersonal about it, but her body didn't seem to care. Her head was fuzzy, each breath impossibly sweet from the struggle for it. She felt simultaneously far away and painfully present. He was still talking, but his words followed the rhythm of his fingers and she could only pay attention to one at a time. Her breath popped, wet, shuddering, and rasping against his claiming hand as she shuddered and arched against his body -_

_“Not yet.” The casual forbiddance froze her in place, but his fingers brought her again and again to wriggling squirms and gasping mews before pausing, as if in admonition._

_Her knees locked together, feet crossing over themselves and twining against each other with the effort to comply with his command. She was whimpering now, eyes fluttering shut. Her breath forced against his hand, a remorseless collar of steely fingers that allowed her only what air he saw fit to grant her. The world spun._

_“Aerith.” The word was a whisper in her ear. “I need you to do something for me.”_

_Her eyes opened, her gaze flicking back towards the sculpted demi-god, even as the fingers against her jaw kept her from turning. He was granting her too little air to reply, but her lips parted in response. Anything._

_“I need you to wake up.”_

Aerith sat bolt upright in bed.

“Goddess DAMN him!”

Frustrated denial transitioned into fury. How _dare_ he? How DARE he?

Of course it had been a dream, she realized with a vexed sort of rage. There had been no music.

She lay back in bed, resentment warring and twining with outrage. So he wanted to play games, hmm? What she wouldn’t give to show _him_ how to play. She’d make his ass so sore, it would wipe that self-assured arrogance right off his face any time he tried to sit down for a _week_.

She imagined her hand fisting in that long silver hair. She’d make him feel it in _all_ his bodies, dammit!

Oooh, she was going to have _words_ with him tomorrow. Tonight, though ... Tonight, she had things to take care of.

DAMN him!


	6. Introspection

Sephiroth waited for the florist to come out of her home with arms folded, leaning against the low wooden fence. He straightened when he saw her exiting her front door. She stopped when she saw him and for a moment, her gaze filled with ... rage?

Well that was unexpected. This was good, he decided as she stormed towards him like a small pink hurricane. She must be frustrated over the fact she hadn’t yet been able to thwart the Arbiters and his presence was pouring salt in the wound. Well, he’d had enough of prodding Cloud to keep him on the right path. The fool _did_ need to be nice and ready to fight Fate itself if he thought it could lead to defeating Sephiroth. However, by this point, Sephiroth was finding the task a necessary chore, empty of what small vindictive sweetness it’d once held. The florist would just have to put up with him – and considering her idiosyncratic reactions to fear, he was somewhat intrigued by the idea of seeing her angry.

“You’re cutting it close,” he warned her as she approached. “After the bombing of Mako Reactor 5, it all gets much more difficult. Shinra will have begun to put the plan into motion. Halting its momentum will be significantly harder than keeping it from ever beginning.”

“You can handle it,” she – _snarled_ at him, oh how interesting. Teeth clenched, she gave him a smile that merely aped her normal cheery beam. “Unless you don’t have faith in your omnipotence?”

“I’m just surprised you do.”

“Well, while _your_ job might get harder after today, mine gets significantly easier.” She curtsied at him. “After I meet Cloud, it’s only a matter of time!”

“... You could stand to have a little _less_ faith.”

“We’ll see!” Abandoning her cheerful façade, she leaned forward and glared up at him, finger pointing at but not quite touching his chest. “Oh, and by the way ... Don’t you _ever_ invade my dreams again.”

Sephiroth’s mind went blank. _What?_

He stared at her for a full three seconds, completely forgetting during all that time to emote. All he did was blink. Considering the prodigious processing speeds at which his mind was now capable of running, it seemed closer to half an hour of subjective time.

“... Unless you came down with an acute case of Jenova cells I am currently unaware of ...” he said at last. His slitted pupils dilated like a cat about to pounce. A slow, _very_ intrigued smile began to creep across his face. “... Then you just had a dream about me.”

_Well, well, well ..._ he thought as he watched her struggle with the dawning realization of the weight of this revelation. What _had_ she dreamed about?

“Let me guess,” he almost heaved a sigh at the words, “I was slaughtering everyone you cared about?”

“... Yyyyyes. Yeah.”

Well, that obviously wasn’t it. “You know ... when I'm wrong, you can tell me; you don't have to just lie unconvincingly.”

“Mmngk.”

What an utterly unexpected sound. Something between a casual hum and a guilty swallow. This was proving more diverting than he’d imagined. Plus, now he was _wildly_ curious.

He couldn’t resist. “So what _did_ you dream?”

“Never you mind! Since it apparently didn’t involve you, it’s none of your business.”

“I would argue, since it apparently _did_ involve me, that _does_ make it my business.”

She tilted her head at him and gave him a sunny smile. “Just because you’re right, doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you.”

“Your acknowledgment of your hypocrisy is refreshing.”

“Yup!” She held a finger upward and beamed in a way that did an excellent job of masking whatever emotions she was actually feeling. “I’m just a bundle of contradictions and deceptions! I try to keep a realistic image of my flaws.”

Was that a flash of genuine pain in her eyes for a moment? Sephiroth couldn’t be sure. Reading people was ... at times incredibly simple, others incredibly difficult. Anger, fear, spite, the calculations of cold self-interest, those he could analyze with casual ease. Smugness, satisfaction, dismay, even amusement ... those too were a simple exercise to read. But occasionally he would come up against something unfamiliar, something he didn’t have the context to analyze. During those times, people’s thoughts were as murky to him as a shape moving on the other side of grimy glass. No matter how much he tried, he could not neither clear the glass nor fully move past it before whatever it was had gone by.

_There is nothing beyond my capabilities. Clearly, the fault must lie in other people. They are small and incomprehensible in their irrationality._

It was the only option that made sense, he had decided long ago when he was still theoretically ‘human.’ When he’d had cause to question, in bouts of youthful naivete, most of his queries had resulted in unsatisfactory answers at best – or sometimes outright hostility. More than once, he had been taken aback by the depths of viciousness that could be spawned from an innocently innocuous question.

_What can you conclude about people unable to express their experiences rationally other than they are being irrational?_ Lashing out, of course, made sense in those contexts. Few people wanted to self-examine when confronted.

Ages ago – in an entirely literal sense – Sephiroth had occasionally regarded such bursts of irrationality with a sort of indulgent fondness. This was before cruel experience had finished jading him to humanity as a whole. As his mind turned back, Sephiroth reflected with remembered warmth on Zack’s almost puppyish enthusiasm whenever thinking about ... _Hm ... this girl, as a matter of fact._

That made him stop and give her a second look. That was right ... he was so used to thinking of her as piece and player. Last of the Cetra, deeply tied to the planet ... She was all those things, yes, but she had also once been the source of a deeply personal mystery. What about her had made Zack ... light up so at the thought of her? He pictured briefly a black lab with a glowing lightbulb in his mouth and almost smiled. For all the social distance between them, thanks to their difference in rank, Sephiroth had been touched by that second-hand warmth. It had been the closest he had come to something ...

That was another of those things he felt he had been viewing through murky glass. Like he had been sitting in one of _Hojo_ ’s testing tanks, one ill maintained, trying to peer through and make out what was happening on a video monitor depicting a sunset.

He would have to broaden the scope of his attention. He was capable of preternatural feats of multi-tasking; surely he was capable of pursuing his goals and solving a long-held mystery that had rekindled his curiosity.

This extended mental digression had gone on entirely during the space between one eye-blink and the next.

“To be fair,” he said aloud. “Most people are a ‘bundle of contradictions and deceptions.’ You are no worse than many in that regard and better than most for admitting it.”

She looked at him, gave a small shake of her head, then looked again. “Was that ... an attempt to be comforting?”

He blinked at her. “Yes.”

“Well ... it was an attempt!” She held up a finger and winked at him. “And that’s what counts.”

Sephiroth was fairly certain he was being mocked. Yet her tone softened it, stripped it of malice. _Hm._ He filed the data-point away under his newly created category for analysis.

She was looking at him with a curious expression. “You ... have a low opinion of people, don’t you?”

“Most have done exceptionally at living down to my expectations.”

“Surely there are people you like.”

“Yes.”

The florist looked confused. In a fit of indulgence, Sephiroth elaborated.

“There are individuals who hold value to me. The mass of humanity does not.”

Aerith frowned, looking thoughtfully down at her basket. “See ...” her fingers played with the pink ribbon dangling from the basket’s handle. “When I look at people, I see the potential for any one of them to become a person I value.”

“When I look at people, I see the potential for petty cruelty, willful blindness, and a small-minded perspective. They need to prove they can become a person I value.” He paused. Then, in a burst of truly magnanimous largess, added, “Hence why I continue to have these extended conversations with you.”

Her head came up. Her eyes widened and she looked honestly taken aback. “Huh?”

What about this wasn’t obvious? “Did you think I truly required any conversation beyond simply stating my case for you to participate in my plans, then receiving your answer?” He gave a sharp shake of his head. “When you are the strongest, fastest, and most intelligent person in _every_ room, you find little engages your interest.”

“And I do? I thought I was just integral to your plans.”

“Finding worth in a thing for only one reason is the work of a shallow mind.”

“Well then ... what _do_ you like about me?” she asked with an intrigued sort of smile.

_Just being able to match wits with me enough to banter is, alone, a quality I find vanishingly rare._ Particularly recently, most of his experiences had been variations on shock, confusion, dismay, “You monster!” or simply angry screaming. It hadn’t led him to high opinions of his adversaries’ wit.

Sephiroth tilted his head. “I might tell you ... if you tell me the content of your dream.”

“Oh you are just impossible!”

“Empirically, untrue.”

They were approaching the church. Sephiroth turned to her. “Consider what I said. You are running out of time. If it helps, consider who, _really_ , you are hurting with your refusal. As long as you live, my plans can still go forward ... even if you delay too long to save Sector 7.” He softened his voice, warming it with faint concern. “I believe that knowledge would haunt you. You might as well do something for yourself.”

He noted a minute tightening at the corners of her eyes and _knew_ he had said something wrong. He had meant to focus her mind back on the most relevant concern before she set herself inexorably on the path to meet Cloud. Her breath caught, confirming his assessment; it was clear he had misstepped. Somehow.

Paradoxically, her next move was to beam at him. She put a finger to her chin. “Do something for myself, hm? Well, I _have_ dreamed about handsome young SOLDIERs falling at my feet. I wonder where I could go to make that happen?”

Sephiroth fought back a snort; after all, there was nothing precisely _wrong_ with favoring small, blond, and dazed. “If you truly desire that, I could more than accommodate you; no need to rely on Fate for it.”

Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with one hand. Sephiroth found it a truly baffling reaction. _She is aware I can fly, correct? Truthfully, I would consider that better than falling. More dignified and controlled._ Yet her eyes had started to dance like he had just made a jest he’d had no idea he was delivering.

“I’ll have to remember that offer!” she quipped – seizing on whatever obscure joke she’d imagined. “Be careful: I just might hold you to that one day!”

Sephiroth came to a stop; they had reached the threshold of the church. He clasped his hands behind his back as she climbed the steps. “Does this mean you’re considering accepting our deal?”

“Not yet!” she told him cheerfully. Confident in his inability to follow, she slipped around through the front door, then gave him a little wave as it closed behind her.

_Self-assured little thing, isn’t she?_

He thought about following, just to get the last word and to see the look on her face when she realized he wasn’t actually barred from entry into her sanctuary. It wasn’t worth it, however. Instead, he decided to slip into the shadows to wait.

* * *

Aerith adjusted her skirts and knelt in the midst of the patch of flowers. Her heart was hammering again. In the brief moment of privacy, where there was no one but herself and the planet, she pressed her palms to her forehead. _What am I doing?_

The music of the planet soothed her. Buoyed by the tranquil harmonies of this place, she could finally relax enough to think. The piano notes were as soothing as the tap of a massage along her spine. She needed to untangle everything that had just happened.

She’d had a dream. About Sephiroth. A quite ... explicitly sensual dream, to put it mildly. It didn’t make sense.

Aerith thought about the various forces at work in the world. There were completely mundane human forces, of course. She almost didn’t include them on the list, but her more bratty, pedantic side wouldn’t let her forget about the significance of Shinra or Avalanche, even when not directly relevant to the discussion.

There were the forces of Fate.

There was the planet itself.

And Sephiroth. The outsider.

She thought about all those forces. For a while, she had been tempted to think about Fate as the will of the planet made manifest. But here, where she was bathed in the planet’s presence and embraced by its warmth ... _They’re not the same._

She knew it, with a deep, intuitive certainty she could feel wasn’t entirely her own.

Humanity, all those myriad of individuals, lived and acted according to their natures, informed by the context afforded by their experiences. The planet was, in a way, more similar to them than to Fate. She had desires and goals. Any plans she made were in service of achieving those goals.

Fate had one goal: to successfully follow the plan. It did not adapt. It was fixed.

The will of planet, meanwhile, was more fluid. Its desires for the moment could change as circumstances changed. It ... reveled in free will, while still having wishes of its own.

Aerith wondered if, usually, Fate and the will of the planet worked more closely with each other. They might, at times, even be intended to be synonymous. But here, where she could just sense the planet like an empathic impression on her mind, she knew ... that wasn’t what was happening now.

She took a deep breath. The revelation sent a shudder through her that she felt in her very core. _You are not in rebellion against the planet. The desires of Fate and the planet are not the same._

A choked sob escaped her and she covered her mouth with her hands. She had been so _tormented_ by that possibility. What if trying to save over 60,000 lives was selfish, because their deaths would prevent so many more? _No. The Goddess does not want anyone to suffer. If you can save them and save the world, she will always want you to do that. Even if you have the chance to help a single person ... that alone will make Her smile._

“Thank you ...” Aerith whispered to the planet. Even if Aerith couldn’t distinguish a response, she knew the Goddess heard her.

Aerith drew a shuddering breath. This full implications would take a while to sink in. For the moment, she still had a more ... _personal_ issue to consider.

She let her breath puff in, then exhaled. _Alright. What do you know about your dream?_

Well, she knew it wasn’t fated to happen. Her visions from the planet – which, she was beginning to realize, were the “fated” course of events – assured her: this was something entirely new. So Fate had nothing to do with it.

Sephiroth claimed he’d had nothing to do with it. It was possible he was lying, but he had claimed he’d never, ever lied to her. She had only his word on that, of course, but it fit everything she could tell about him from her observations and her visions. Besides, now that she could clearly think about it, what _reason_ would he have for sending her such dreams? It was possible it was part of some elaborate mind play, something that only made sense in his own twisted world-view. But assuming irrationality explained away any and all actions was just ... lazy thinking. _You can use that to dismiss any deeper thought at all, because why try to understand someone who is ‘just crazy,’ right?_

No. Of all the things to take on faith, ‘I should just be content assuming the worst out of someone, no matter what evidence arises to the contrary,’ should not be one of them.

So. It wasn’t Sephiroth. What did that leave?

The planet? No, she was equally certain that wasn’t the case. One look at him and her Cetra instincts screamed with dread. An abhorrent thing. An unnatural thing.

Which was entirely accurate. If there was anything so utterly ‘outside the natural order,’ it was Sephiroth. He who had incorporated Jenova, the _thing_ not from this world. Calamity’s child. He who had been born through utterly unnatural means – the product of science and experimentation, with alien material and mako energy so deeply encoded, it could not be removed from him without fundamentally changing who he was. He who was not even from this time. There was nothing so at odds with ‘what should be’ than him. Her instinctive response was only natural.

The thought struck her as ... oddly sad. _What must it be like, to be someone for whom the only completely ‘natural’ response to you is intuitive horror?_ So much of what he was had been done _to_ him. His Jenova cells? Being an unholy fusion of man, mako, and alien material? Even being in another timeline had not been his choice. It made her feel a twinge of guilt. He still needed to be held accountable for his actions, but she resolved to take more care in responding to him simply in light of what he actually did, not because of what she _felt._

So, it was not the planet sending her any deeper message through her Cetra side. _Besides,_ she reflected. _My dream lacked music._ Even when the planet didn’t speak to her in words, she received empathic impressions analogous to how one was moved by music. This had just been ... mundane.

So, of the various forces in play, it wasn’t Fate, Sephiroth, it wasn’t the planet. That left ... _The human?_

That made Aerith stop. That was right ... she was half human. She might pretend to be human, pass as human during day-to-day interactions, but everyone who knew spent so much time thinking of her as ‘half Cetra,’ ‘inheritor of the Cetra’s legacy,’ that she had internalized it on some level. Her connection to her humanity, when it came up, was usually framed in terms of, “It’s such a pity there is human blood muddying the genome and making her a less effective Cetra.” What if ... instead of simply being a thing that made her ‘less of a Cetra,’ her human side was exerting an influence all its own?

Aerith paused, then tried for a moment to separate out her Cetra responses and listen to what her purely human instincts were telling her.

Sephiroth was ... attractive on a purely aesthetic level, to be sure. He was built like a marble statue of some classical heroic figure. The shape of him alone was ... _Mmm ..._

Aerith blinked at this reflexive internal purr. Maybe she was onto something with this theory of “influence from the human side.”

He was powerful. There was something inherently exciting to her about power, she had to admit. Power could either be wielded in intriguing ways, or it was an ego boost if it could be successfully brought to heel. She had to do a lot of filtering out of her innate antipathy towards the specific _source_ of that power. But apparently her subconscious did not.

_This ... actually all makes a lot of sense._

Aerith let out her breath in relief. Her mind wasn’t being violated. She wasn’t in some way deviant or depraved. She was just, ironically, having an entirely _natural_ response to someone on a human level.

The thought struck her as deeply humorous. Aerith giggled.

Well, she didn’t need to _act_ on it. It wasn’t like attraction to other people had utterly shut off while she’d been dating Zack; she did know there were more important things than raw allure.

_... Even love isn’t enough if it’s not maintained,_ her thoughts continued, generating a twinge of pain. She had loved Zack. That emotion had never gone away. But ... you just couldn’t maintain a relationship with an image. You needed a real, present and supportive person. Otherwise it wasn’t a relationship, just ... a fantasy. By time she had felt his death and had to grapple all over again with mourning for the loss of the man, she had long since put to rest her mourning for the loss of the relationship.

She shook her head. _The point is,_ she thought much more brightly, retreating back into cheekiness to renew her positive mood. _Sorry, Sephiroth_. _Unless you can somehow prove yourself a fulfilling partner with a willingness to expend emotional labor towards meeting the needs and desires of someone beyond yourself, you don’t have a chance with this local florist._

Satisfied that this rather disorienting mystery had been solved, Aerith settled down to weed and water the flower patch before Cloud smashed his way into it.


	7. Suite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suite: In music, a suite is a set of short, independent musical movements, played together as a group.

_Okay. It’s almost time._

Aerith pushed herself to her feet and bounced slightly, limbering up. She tilted her head to one side, then the other, cracking her neck, then stretched. She felt as nervous as if she _knew_ she was waiting for combat.

 _You should relax,_ she scolded herself. _He’s just going to literally fall from the sky into your lap; you don’t have to do anything._

Still, the anticipation was getting to her. She paced. She took out her staff, snapped it open, then put it away again. It was hard, waiting for a moment she _knew_ was going to be the catalyst for so much going forward.

 _Should I ... do something?_ She glanced worriedly upward towards the Sector 5 plate. It was a _long_ way down.

Of course, she wasn’t entirely certain gravity actually _could_ kill Cloud. She thought back to her visions. _Let’s see. He fell off a bridge over a chasm when he was a child and survived with ‘only a scraped knee.’ He fell off another bridge over a different chasm – what was_ _ **with**_ _Nibelheim and not properly maintaining its bridges?_ What’s more, all of this happened BEFORE Cloud was even enhanced. He was just a normal _guy_! Then there were the multitude of different falling related incidents he’d survived or would survive after. It seemed like the ground just could not kill him. It was like the planet was just utterly unwilling to be responsible for his death.

Aerith couldn’t help but give another glance up in worry, though. At least she didn’t have to worry about the roof getting in the way; it still had a nice Zack-shaped hole in it.

_Can falling actually kill ANYONE?_

This seemed like the sort of thing she did not want to test.

It was starting. She could hear the sounds of commotion filtering in from outside. That would be the news broadcasts, stoking up fear of the –

“– terrorist group known as Avalanche,” the voice of the news announcer came to her distantly. Normally, all sounds of the world outside were muffled in her church; the planet wrapped this place in an aura of serenity, which often required giving respite from the chaotic bustle of the world outside. Now, however, as Aerith’s desires stretched outward and she strained to hear, she felt a tendril of the planet’s power wrap around her and it was as if her senses were briefly heightened. “... who have been spotted launching an assault on the Sector 5 reactor,” the announcer continued. “Although it has yet to be confirmed, an anonymous source within Shinra has claimed there is evidence linking this recent spike in Avalanche’s activities with funding from Wutai –”

 _Wutai?_ The shock of the statement jolted Aerith out of her concentration. She didn’t remember anything about Avalanche and Wutai. She didn’t even remember there being _accusations_ about Avalanche and Wutai. A quick run-through of her visions confirmed it was the case; not the slightest connection to Wutai until Yuffie joined the party.

 _This is a different universe. Things are slightly different._ If she was slightly different from that original Aerith, it was dumb not to expect other things to be slightly different as well.

 _I don’t see the Arbiters messing with_ _ **these**_ _changes,_ she thought dryly. _But you acting slightly out of character with what they want, oh no; can’t have that. They’re willing to give you their undivided attention; you’re_ _ **special**_ _._

She devoted a moment's thought to just the right four letter word for them.

There was a flash of light from above. Then, a few seconds later, the distant sound of an explosion reached her ears.

_Oh! Oh, oh, oh! It’s time!_

She flicked her staff open yet again and clutched it to her chest to have something comforting to hold onto as she gazed upward in trepidation. She skipped sideways first one way, then the other. Cloud, Tifa, and Barret had just finished beating up the Airbuster _right now_.

_Cloud will be fine. Cloud will be fine._

Cloud would be fine, right? The Arbiters _would_ save him, even if the planet didn’t ... and the planet _would_ save him, right?

Oh – there! A distant dark speck, falling from above. _And, uh, flailing, in a very un-debris-like manner._ That was definitely Cloud.

Aerith stepped aside.

_SMCRUCH!_

Aerith winced at the nauseating sound of impact, accompanied by a cloud of petals bursting upward. The petals settled again on the black and blue SOLDIER uniform of the unconscious man.

Aerith walked over to examine him. _He ... doesn’t look good._ The planet was going to do something, right? ... Any time now ...?

The niggling coil of the planet’s energy jabbed her. Aerith’s eyes widened. _Oh, right! The planet made sure I would be here;_ _ **I**_ _should do something!_

Aerith collapsed her staff and knelt down to place her hand on his – _Oh my, not there; that’s a little bloody_ – ah ... His right collarbone, then. She breathed in, closed her eyes, and reached out.

Even here, in Midgar where the country-side was being slowly drained of life, the Lifestream was here. It flowed through the souls of every living thing. It was in the pigeons who pecked for bread on the sidewalks. It was in the cats prowling languidly through the alley-ways and in the rats they occasionally hunted. It was in the people. The children, getting their first taste of frustrations and joys. The elderly, rich in experience with both. She could feel a plate dweller late for work, thinking with pleasure about what he would eat for dinner that night. A nana in the slums smiling at the completion of a home-woven blanket. The Lifestream flowed in a river that carried their dreams, their triumphs, their pains, their lives.

She gathered up a handful of _life_. Not too much from any one source. What she did was analogous to asking for a drop of blood from a million different bodies. _Give me a drop of your lives,_ she asked them, _so another may live._

Freely given, it wasn’t even a sacrifice. Life begat life. Just like a body could replace a drop of blood with ease, so too was her request not even a burden. _Thank you, all the same_.

Reaching out like this, she felt the scar of the Mako reactors upon the land. The world ached as its lifeblood was siphoned away down a tube. _Oh Shinra ... A single drop from many does no harm, yet you wonder why ripping it all from the same place causes a body to die._

Power gathered now at her breast, she sent out a prayer to the Goddess, then carefully directed it outward to heal the wounded body beneath her hand. Inwardly, she could almost feel the planet sigh in exasperated relief.

Seems like she needed to be a little less focused on what she ‘knew’ was supposed to happen and a little more focused on reacting to what she was seeing in front of her.

Cloud groaned and twitched a foot. Aerith quickly pulled back her hand and hid it in her lap. Well, moving something ... anything was good.

She didn’t need her visions to tell her what to do next. She leaned forward over him. “Hel-looo? ... Hello in there ...?”

* * *

Reno swaggered down the streets towards the abandoned church, shock-stick resting on his shoulder in as cool and cocksure a manner as he could manage. Welp, it was time. He hoped Aerith had made the most of the time he’d given her, because orders were orders. _And I am a consummate professional. Oh yeah._

Consummate professional, he _would_ have to use that line; it made him sound sexy. People tended to underestimate him, just because he was lazy and slovenly and very particular about where he went above and beyond. But if there was anyone to impress that _he was a baddass_ , it was Aerith. The trio of Shinra mooks flanking him only helped that image, he thought. _It might help her feel better about all this if she’s being brought in by a cool bad-boy with a rebellious air, but who deep in his heart, sticks to his principles. Being a professional’s a principle, yeah? There ain’t anything more principled than that in my line of work, yeah?_

Yeah; he was going to make an impression.

As he jogged up the steps towards the door of the church, he passed a tall, silver-haired man, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

“Reno.”

Reno gave a lazy, two-fingered salute. “General.”

Reno stopped. He spun on the spot, doing a double-take that was all the more comical for being unplanned, _genuine_ shock. “Huh?”

General Sephiroth did not move so much as a muscle, his posture radiating patient nonchalance. One eye cracked open in a flash of frightening green, its feline pupil contracted to a slit. That eye flicked towards the church, then back to Reno. A slight, cruel, amused smile tilted the corner of his lips. “I wouldn’t,” he warned.

Reno took a step backward. Then another. Then he spun around to his men. “Fall back, minions; we are getting the _fuck_ out of here!”

“Huh? But sir-!”

“ _Now!_ ” Reno grabbed the shoulder of the man who had spoken. “We got new intel from the highest sources. We are reporting this shit in, _now_.”

Sephiroth watched them with an amused smirk, not moving from his position in the slightest.

As they all reluctantly pulled back from the door, one of the mooks muttered as he turned away, “Psh. He doesn’t look so tough ...”

Reno froze. _Aw fuck; that boy’s gonna die._

Sephiroth smiled. Between one _blink_ and the next, Masamune was in his hands – _Where dafuq did it come from!? –_ angled forward from a grip by his shoulder, with the tip under the chin of the mook who had spoken. Reno’s heart leaped into his throat. _Shitshitshitshitshit ..._

“This one.” Sephiroth’s voice was precisely enunciated. “Is SOLDIER.”

Reno swallowed. “I don’t think –”

“Test him _again_.”

Reno touched two fingers to his temple and pointed them at Sephiroth as he backed away in something kind of, sort of resembling something that might be the love-child between a salute and finger guns, “You got it, boss.” _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck ..._

As the Shinra forces fell back with all speed, it was all Reno could do to keep from running. Forget looking cool and sexy now. This was the sort of thing the bosses needed to learn about. Right. Dafuq. _Now._

* * *

Aerith listened with horrified fascination as Sephiroth’s music overwhelmed the Turks’ melody and the Turks beat a hasty retreat. At least she could hear the drawling guitar fading slowly into the distance, so she knew Sephiroth hadn’t murdered him outright.

_By the Goddess, you absolute troll!_

_Now_ what was she supposed to do?

Cloud was looking towards the door; he’d heard the muffled sounds of a conversation outside. Any minute, he’d be moving towards the doors to check it out.

Thinking quickly, Aerith lunged forward and grabbed his arm. “Wait!” He turned around, blinking, and she hesitated, drawing back, feeling suddenly shy. She remembered Sephiroth’s violently negative reaction to being touched and it suddenly felt so ... _presumptuous_ to be doing it to someone without their permission now.

She took a breath. “There’s ... this guy who’s been following me. He’s really scary.” In the deep recessed of her mind, Aerith began to smile. _Oh, Sephiroth wants to mess around with me, hmm? Keep me from hanging out with Cloud? I’ll show him._

Aerith glanced quickly up at Cloud and gave an external smile, a bit more hesitantly. “Your job ... does it involve a bit of bodyguard work? Could you get me out of here? Protect me until I get home?”

“I ...”

She swallowed and stepped close to him. “Please do this?” she asked him in a whisper. “... For me?”

He hesitated, then shook his head with a self-exasperated exhalation of breath. “Fine. But it’ll cost you. A lot.”

“A lot, huh?” she mused, teasingly. “How about ...”

_‘How about one date?’_

The words congealed in her throat.

Zack’s words.

That was the point of this, wasn’t it? Fate loved its narratives; this whole thing was supposed to deliberately echo how she’d met Zack.

The original Aerith, the one from her visions, had been struck by the similarities and amused. On a subconscious level, she’d also been affected by just how _much_ Cloud reminded her of Zack. Thousands of nearly imperceptible cues, down to the very way he _moved._ They were the sort of things that were so unique to an individual, they couldn’t be copied. Except they were copied, thanks to the psychic imprint Zack had left on Cloud through their Jenova cells at the moment of his death. A ghost merged with a man ... to make someone both familiar and new.

But this Aerith wasn’t affected on a subconscious level. Her actions were completely, totally _conscious._ That was what made this awkward.

She _knew_ what Fate had in store for her. She knew Cloud and Tifa could have a good life together, while she and Cloud ...

She swallowed.

Pain, more pain. The pain of loss.

She could remember the moments. Hundreds of little moments of happiness. She knew _exactly_ what she was giving up.

Perhaps they could be good together. For a little while. But that path would only end with a blade through the heart.

She couldn’t do that. Not to Cloud, not to Tifa. She couldn’t deny someone her happiness, just for a future that would be cut so brutally short.

Maybe this time, they would change Fate. Maybe this time, she would survive. _Oh Cloud ..._

_‘I think ... I’d like to meet you.’_

Had Aerith ever met the real Cloud before she died? Would Aerith even know if they were compatible, or if everything that had attracted her to Cloud had merely been an echo of Zack? She didn’t know. _I could ... find out._

Could she, though? Was it right for her to try? Was it right for her to say Zack’s words to this unsuspecting boy wearing his ghost, to take him away from a relationship that was already blooming before him, to hurt a person she hoped to one day call a friend? Not just _a_ person. More than one.

_Oh Cloud ... You can’t fall in love with me._

A thread between them stretched, then parted with a wrenching _ping_ audible only to Aerith. She turned away from him, fighting to hold back the tears in her eyes. _How can you mourn the loss of a man you just met?_

“Hey ...” She heard a clank of a pauldron, then a gloved hand came to rest on her shoulder. She turned to see Cloud’s face looking down at her, concerned. “You ok?”

“I’m fine.” She sniffed and shook her head, then tried to smile. “This just ... This all just reminded me of someone I knew once. Someone I had to give up.”

She tried to hide her watery eyes and wavery smile, but Cloud didn’t seem to be fooled. The gloved hand squeezed once comfortingly, then withdrew. “Hey ... don’t worry about the payment for now. We’ll figure out something later.”

“Thanks.” She took a deep breath, then grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the back of the church. “Come on. Let’s go out the back where nobody will see us. I want to get well away from here before the Turks return.”

“Turks?” Cloud asked, his attention sharpening as he was pulled along. “Shinra’s goons?”

“You know them?”

“Yeah. I was with SOLDIER. First Class.”

_Of course you were._

“What do the Turks want with you?”

“Aaah ...” She gave him a bright smile, the sort to indicate she clearly knew something and was attempting to misdirect him. “Hey, don’t Turks scout out for SOLDIER candidates? Maybe they think I can be the greatest SOLDIER yet!”

Now they were back on track. She breathed a sigh of relief and settled back into an attitude of cheerful playfulness. She turned her attention to the path forward.

* * *

_Shinra HQ, Floor B3  
_ _General Affairs: Auditing Office_

“I’m telling you, man; I SAW him!”

Tseng pushed aside the paperwork he had been working on and laced his gloved fingers. “That’s impossible. Sephiroth is dead.” He shook his head in disbelief. “It was _confirmed._ ”

Reno jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of the door. “I got three guys who’ll _confirm_ it with me that he’s walkin’ around the Sector 5 slums. Big guy, silver hair? Mako glowing eyes with cat-slits? Fellow like that is kinda hard to mistake! Guy had Masamune, for fuck’s sake! _He fuckin’ knew me, Tseng!_ ”

Tseng glanced at Rude, who was nursing an ice pack over some bruises. “What about you? Did you run into General Sephiroth as well?”

The bald man shook his head. “No,” he replied. His resonant bass was clipped, the strongest sign of frustration he was likely to show. “A spiky haired blond boy, also ex-SOLDIER.”

“Guarding the Ancient around the same area where General Sephiroth supposedly stopped you from reclaiming her.” Tseng pinched the bridge of his nose. “I _don’t_ like this.”

“Hey guys.” Reno was getting this look of dawning revelation.

“Oh no,” Tseng sighed.

“Nah, nah, hear me out! You know Heidegger’s bullshit story about Wutai funding Avalanche? What if ... Wutai IS funding Avalanche ... so they can hire Sephiroth!”

“That’s impossible,” snapped Tseng. “There’s no way Godo would work with the Demon of Wutai. Besides, how much would it take to pay for his services?”

“I know how much _we’re_ paying him,” rumbled Rude.

“You mean how much we _were_ paying him.”

Rude didn’t say anything.

Tseng looked at him, then turned to Reno. “You didn’t close his account after he died?”

Reno spread his hands sheepishly in a shrug. “Eh ...”

Tseng pressed his steepled fingers against his face. “I should have known better than to trust you with anything involving paperwork,” he muttered, muffled, with his eyes closed. “Reno, we’re the _auditing_ office.”

“Look, he was dead; the money wasn’t goin’ anywhere ... Besides, I always thought that whole ‘auditing’ thing was a pile of bunk; you _seen_ how much Palmer’s embezzling from the company?”

Tseng’s attention was caught. “Palmer’s embezzling from the company?”

“You didn’t know? Shit man; all the department heads are! Except for Scarlet; her books are clean.”

“Suspicious.”

“And you have any idea how much financial chicanery went into Project S? Wild, man.”

“Reno. Those files are classified. Do _you_?”

Reno stopped. He lifted his hands sheepishly again. “Eh ...”

“Did you make copies?”

Reno gave Tseng a shocked look and put a hand to his chest. “Why ... that would be wrong!”

Tseng took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly and deliberately. “This table, two hours.”

A two-fingered salute. “You got it, chief!”

“So.” Tseng pressed his gloved palms together like he was making a prayer to the Goddess for patience. “Let me get this straight. I have a place of work where every single department head appears to be embezzling –”

“Except Scarlet!”

“Thank you, Reno. A prized agent who has been reading classified material. A _pile_ of jobs with explicit instructions that have not yet been carried out. _And_ , we did not cancel the generous salary nor close the account of a dead man, who is now walking around. And have you ever heard of _compound interest_ , Reno?”

Rude looked uncomfortable. “Should we ... close it now?”

Silence.

“Look, I ain’t signin’ my name to that!” said Reno after a moment. “He knows I know he’s back!”

There was another pause. Tseng lowered a gloved hand to the table and drummed his fingers slowly. “These ... _multitude_ of accounting irregularities are not our chief concern,” he said to everybody’s extreme relief. “You were right to report in with this ... difficult to process information. I’m making sure this is passed up the chain. I expect the implications will take a while to sink in. In the meantime, we have our orders.”

“Oh no, I am NOT crossing paths with that scary-ass fuck again!”

“You won’t have to. _I_ will take charge of searching for the Ancient. I expect I can track her down better than any of you. And can do a better job _convincing_ her to come back.”

“You mean ...”

“I mean with _words_ , Reno. Goddess.” He sat back in his chair. “You of all people should know I don’t want to see anything bad happen to her.”

“She’s a good kid,” rumbled Rude.

“Yes. And if there was any other way to handle this situation, I would. But, we have our orders. _Explicit_ orders. And we’re _professionals._ ”

“We’re professionals,” Rude echoed, nodding.

Reno rubbed the back of his neck and waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah ...”

“In the meantime, while I’m handling that, the two of you have a new job in Sector 7.”

“Oh thank _fuck,_ ” Reno sighed. “ _Anything_ ’s better than seein’ that terrifying bastard again ...”

* * *

Elmyra was _not_ happy about her daughter bringing another member of SOLDIER into the house. The last time one of them had showed up, Aerith had locked herself in her room as soon as he’d left and drunk everything alcoholic in the house. That was _not_ the sort of behavior of a happy individual. Elmyra wasn’t one to judge her daughter’s tastes, but she’d been particularly alarmed by the sorts of things Aerith had been willing to consume to get drunk. They could have just gone out and bought real drinks if Aerith had really wanted; there was no need to resort to cooking sherry.

Elmyra was polite to their guest – because you were always polite to guests – but she was just itching for Aerith to be out of the room for long enough for her to ask this young SOLDIER to leave her daughter alone and not come back.

She particularly didn’t like this one. He was ... _Pouty_ , she thought. He had the sort of look of a man who _thought_ he was ‘dangerous’ and ‘broody,’ but was really ... lost. And sulky. She knew what real dangerous men looked like. She thought of the General and shuddered briefly. The way this new boy was being so easily bossed around by Hurricane Aerith, as Elmyra affectionately thought of it, just confirmed her assessment of him.

Personally, Elmyra was beginning to despair of her daughter’s choices – although she would never hurt Aerith by telling her so. When your daughter brought home a ‘friend,’ you made an effort to be nice, even if you didn’t think they deserved her. Zack had been a nice enough boy and he certainly had enthusiasm. But he wasn’t _mature_. This spiky-haired blond was even worse, in Elmyra’s opinion. At least the general had been _refined._ And he seemed to like her scones.

Aerith had dragged the boy back out of the house again to do tasks around the slums before Elmyra had a chance to corner him. She sighed and tried to set about getting food ready for dinner.

She needed a moment. Elmyra stepped outside, turning her face upward towards what sun filtered around the edges of the plates. The sun lamps had gone off during the bombing.

She gasped and jumped at the realization she wasn’t alone. She put a hand to her chest, trying to calm down her hammering heart. “Oh! General.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Gainsborough.”

Well, he was polite as she remembered. She had, of course, recognized him at once. You couldn’t follow the news during the Wutai war with the sort of anxious attention of someone whose husband was deployed without learning the face of General Sephiroth.

Elmyra folded her arms and gave him an even look. There was still a small alarm ringing deep in her animal hind-brain, warning her this was a _very_ dangerous man, but she wasn’t going to back down where her daughter was concerned. “Why are you stalking my daughter?”

Sephiroth stilled. “I am not _stalking_ ,” he said with the sort of affronted stiffness of a cat being subjected to a gross indignity. “I am being on hand for when she makes her decision while giving her the space for her to make it in peace.”

“Oh.” That ... actually did seem a little considerate, put in perspective. “Is that why you’ve been hanging around our house? Because you want her to do something?

Elmyra had _not_ been so unaware that she couldn’t put two and two together that time her daughter had leaned out the door and yelled at someone in the garden. Parents were supposed to practice judicious blindness for the sake of their children sometimes, but that didn’t mean they actually were as clueless as they appeared.

Sephiroth seemed to consider her, then inclined his head. “I asked her if she would assist me in my own project, yes. Being nearby facilitates easy communication.” His lip twitched. “Besides, there are all sorts of unworthy people passing through her orbit. Just this morning, I chased away a Turk.”

Elmyra’s breath caught. A Turk? “Rude was here earlier,” she whispered, a sinking feeling developing in the pit of her stomach. One Turk might be nothing; they did swing by occasionally to check on Aerith. More than one, searching for her, was very bad news indeed.

She looked up at the General with new, surprised consideration. “If you protected my daughter from the Turks, then ... Would that mean you’re not here on Shinra’s behalf?”

“Shinra and I ... are not on speaking terms at the moment.” His lip curled up at some private amusement.

“So you’re _ex_ -SOLDIER ...” Elmyra mused. She glanced thoughtfully back at the cottage. “Just like the blond haired boy ...”

Sephiroth’s voice grew curt. “Our similarities end there.”

“Oh-ho ...” Elmyra gave him a look. _Is that personal animosity I hear?_ “You know him, then?”

“... We share cells.”

What an odd way of putting it. It was ... cold, Elmyra decided. While it implied a familial tie, all the warmth of _family_ was stripped away by its blunt, scientific truth. _It’s the sort of dispassionate response of someone trying to distance themselves from any connection._

Elmyra turned her gaze towards the path Aerith and the young ex-SOLDIER had taken, worry tinging her features. _What kind of a person does my daughter have ‘protecting her?’_ “Is he safe?”

General Sephiroth inhaled, looking for a split second like he was about to reply with some scathingly dismissive indictment. Then he seemed to reconsider. In the end, after another, long pause, he said simply, “He has Mako eyes.”

“Ah ... I see.” He was SOLDIER; ergo, he was dangerous. General Sephiroth seemed to know this. Elmyra could still feel that tiny scrabbling in her mind, like a mouse in a corner desperately trying to climb the walls because it was in the same room as a cat. But Sephiroth seemed to keep every aspect of himself under tight control. In a way, Elmyra found it oddly comforting. It was more reassuring to see a person with incredible power fully in control and aware of how lethal it could be, rather than someone with incredible power who rolled through life like an enthusiastic child or brooding teenager.

“But you don’t like him, I take it?”

“He is ... unworthy.”

There was that word again. How interesting. She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow at him. “And you? Would you consider yourself worthy?”

Sephiroth didn’t answer for a few moments. “... I believe that is the wrong question,” he said at last, slowly.

“Ah?” Elmyra put a hand on one hip and asked with a bit of amusement, “What is the right question, then?”

“... Mn.”

After another few moments of waiting, it became clear that was all she was going to get. She sighed and turned back towards the house. “Would you like to come in? I have some tarts in the oven if you’d like –”

She turned back around to find the General gone. As far as the eye could see, there was no sight of him. The only thing moving was a single black feather, drifting slowly to the cobblestones.


	8. Tango

Aerith was out of breath. She loved kids and she appreciated these specific ones’ enthusiasm, but they were a bundle of energy.

She had steam-rolled Cloud into helping her do odd jobs around the slums; he hadn’t been that hard to convince, to tell the truth. For all his grumbling and need to insist he wasn’t just doing this out of the goodness of his heart, the truth was, he seemed to like taking on jobs that clearly helped people. _No serving corporate overlords who view people as only cogs in a machine, no idealistic jobs ‘for the greater good’ that resulted in a body count in the here and now ... Just using power as it was intended; to help those without it._

They had split up to round up a bunch of kids who were “on patrol” rather than doing their lessons. She had just finished tracking down the last of her lot and sending them scampering back when –

“Your sense of priorities mystifies me, flower girl.”

Aerith turned to see Sephiroth smirking down at her. That smirk, she was starting to realize, really seemed to be his default expression. As in, truly, the expression he defaulted to so he wasn’t showing no expression at all. He seemed to have a suite of, like ... _three_ emotions he actually knew how to show and spotting cues for the rest were more difficult. At the moment, she thought she detected a hint of baffled consternation.

“Sixty-thousand lives in the balance ... but right now, _children are cutting class_.”

For a second, she expected him to cover his mouth with his fingertips like he had done when she’d tried, gently, to let him know he wasn’t actually a Cetra. But it seemed he considered such an act of blatant theater beneath him – _This time,_ her mind added dryly.

She turned, beamed, and dipped him a curtsy. _**I**_ _will deliver a polite greeting even if you don’t._ “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“No, because someone _insists_ on filling her time with minutia instead of tasks actually worthy of her attention.”

“Ah ...” She held up a finger. “There’s a lot to unpack there, so let’s take it one at a time, shall we? First of all, actually think this through. The Arbiters will not _let_ me simply tell Cloud about Shinra’s plans. The only way this information will be discovered is by infiltrating Corneo’s mansion. This won’t happen unless Cloud is in a specific place at a specific time to see the carriage carrying Tifa into Wall Market. I, quite literally, cannot progress my plans until tonight.”

She clapped her hands, smiled at him, and folded her fingers over each other. “Now, while you spend your time being bored, I spend mine helping people. You could try it some time.”

“Spend my time chasing down lost kittens? I’m sorry to disappoint you; Cloud already did that.”

She held up a finger in front of his nose. “Don’t mock.” _Hah_ , she _was_ starting to get a sense of how close she could get to him without triggering his anti-touch reactions. She put her hands on her hips, looking at him. “Do you _really_ want to know why I do this?”

“The Ancient, last of the Cetra, wielder of a direct connection to the planet, engaged in activities _any_ sufficiently motivated person could do? I’d put it down to severe irrationality.” He paused, then looked at her again. “... Enlighten me,” he added with a touch of ... _Was that actual curiosity?_

Aerith took a breath. “Everything,” she turned, spreading her hands at her side, looking down the hillside at the rest of Sector 5, “shares a connection. Actions have ripples and you don’t always know their consequences.” She tilted her head. “Do you want me to give an example?”

He opened a hand at her, granting permission. His eyes glittered – was he intrigued or simply waiting for the right moment to pounce on a perceived weakness in her argument?

“Well, let’s take something bad.” She held up her own hand with a jingle of bracelets, spreading her fingers. “A man on the upper plate has had a bad day at work. The machines are slow processing his payment for groceries, so he decides to take it out on the poor cashier. This leaves the cashier upset, so he fumbles the payment for the next person in line. This leaves everyone after him cross because of the delay. They go home and bring the cloud of frustration and ill feelings to spread to their families.”

“It has indeed been my experience that evils spread more virulently than a virus.”

“But it happens with good as well! Sometimes a single small act of kindness can be enough to break the chain of a really bad day. And you don’t know how they’ll ripple outward.” She pointed with her chin back in the direction of the orphanage. “Take what Cloud and I are doing now. Ms. Folia has a date tonight. Now that the kids are back, she can finish up their lessons and won’t have to cancel. Who knows what sort of happiness might come from it!”

“Mm. This rests on the assumption that evil and good are diseases with equally infectious natures. That people don’t remember the bad more than the good.” His lip quirked wryly. “Surely you’ve noticed it’s easier to destroy than to build.”

She gave him a softer smile. “Then we just have to work all the harder when we can, don’t we?”

“... Mn.”

_Well now ... he didn’t have an answer to that. No snark, no bitingly sarcastic comments. Did I ... just have an impact?_

“Look.” Aerith made a daring leap. “If you want us to get back to the house faster, you could always help out.” She dug in her pockets and held out a slip of paper, extending her arm with the authoritative sort of gesture that said, with complete confidence, he _was_ going to take it and should just stop resisting. “Cloud and I haven’t had the chance to deal with this one yet. There’s some Shinra drones that got knocked loose when the reactor blew and are now terrorizing everyone they meet as ‘unauthorized personnel.’ They could really hurt someone, but you could take care of them with like ... no effort at all!”

He took the paper in an instinctive response to the gesture, but was still staring at her. “... You’re serious.”

“Yup! You said you didn’t have anything better to do.”

“I am a literal _god_.”

“Then it’ll be easy! Wouldn’t it be great if we all could make the world better just by investing a little bit of attention?”

“I realize you’re manipulating me.”

“Mmhm!” Her smile twinkled at him. “How’s it working?”

“ _Mnnnn_...”

Aerith couldn’t tell if that was a deep sigh or a growl, but she could tell it meant she’d won. She bounced in place, giving her hands a happy clap. “Great! Good luck!” She turned her head. “Oh, I have to meet Cloud. Before you go –” She turned back. There was nothing but a black feather, slowly floating down. Aerith held out her hand and watched the feather slowly settle upon it.

“Hey, I found the last of them.”

Aerith whirled, heart in her throat. The hand with the feather quickly went behind her back. Cloud stared at her, faintly puzzled. “Everything okay?”

“Mmhm. Yup. The kids should all be heading back to their lessons now!”

“Should we tackle the Shinra drones next?”

Aerith waved a hand breezily. “Oh, don’t worry about it!”

“Huh?”

“I've lived around here all my life. I know people. I've got someone on this one.” All those statements were objectively true! Just ... not _related_.

Cloud looked at her, puzzled, then nodded slowly in an ‘unsure but game’ sort of way. “Alright then ...”

Aerith grabbed his arm cheerfully. As she did, she palmed the black feather into her pocket, out of sight. “I know what we can do instead!”

“Huh?”

“Come on!” As she pulled Cloud down the street, Aerith reflected on sending both Cloud and Sephiroth on carefully parallel tasks and indulged in an internal purr. There was no point in denying the smug satisfaction she felt at sending two powerful men running around town, making the world a better place at _her_ bidding.

* * *

Sephiroth could _not_ believe the Cetra girl had talked him into this. He _still_ wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. He _needed_ to work on a different reaction beyond staring as something utterly absurd happened to him; apparently it was going to become far less infrequent occurrence.

He stalked through the scrap yard – which, as far as he could tell, extended throughout the entirety of the Sector 5 slums – summoning Masamune to his hand. Well, at least this would be quick. He spotted the lost security machines; a design he didn’t recognize with what looked like an eye over a drill.

“Unauthorized personnel: intruder alert.”

Well that was an irony. They hadn’t revoked his clearance at Shinra HQ, but apparently some industrious soul had done so with the Mako reactor robots. Or perhaps they were newer models which had never been told he was cleared in the first place.

Sephiroth sighed. There was no reason to expend effort on these things. With a wave of telekinetic force, he froze one in the air with contemptible ease. _Slash!_ His blade bisected the drone, which slowly drifted apart in his grip. Sephiroth let it drop and selected another, neatly skewering the drone, then shattering it against the ground with a flick of his wrist.

They were attacking him now, if you could call it that. He casually sidestepped a buzzing swoop, sending Masamune arcing into the drone as it drifted past; almost an afterthought.

 _PTANG!_ Quite to his surprise, this drone went rocketing away from his strike, ricocheting off a pile of trash and reeling in the air, stunned. Sephiroth frowned. That was entirely the wrong sound for something to make when struck with Masamune.

Ah. A near-opaque spherical shell surrounded the drone, slowly fading to transparency. By the way it had flared when struck, and again when it survived a high-speed impact with the terrain, Sephiroth deduced it was a kinetic barrier designed to absorb and bleed off the force of physical attacks.

The perceived arrogance of the challenge was irksome enough, Sephiroth briefly considered simply striking it _hard enough_ to overwhelm the barrier. But no; batting this thing with the sort of force used to carve apart buildings would be mere theatrics; satisfying, but self-indulgent and ultimately unnecessary. He had other means at his disposal.

It was amazing what telekinetic ability could do, when manipulated with a sufficiently enlightened grasp of physics. Atoms vibrated at extreme speed, then their bonds shattered. They careened off, combining with oxygen in the air, and a flash of fire incinerated the recalcitrant robot. Atoms froze, their inherent energy halted and absorbed by the iron grip of his will. Ice shattered another drone. Sephiroth smiled. It was the work of another moment to build up an electric charge between himself and the final drone, then release it in a bolt of crackling lightning.

 _That was cathartic,_ he allowed.

* * *

“I heard, I heard! You got ‘em all, right? Thank you so much!”

“Huh?” Cloud looked at the enthusiastically grateful man with confusion. “But I didn’t –”

The man pressed a bunch of gil and a pair of boots into his arms. “If I’m ever in the market for a merc again, I’ll make sure to give you a call. Actually, while you’re here, I’ve got another favor to ask.”

“Uh, okay. I didn’t actually do the first thing, but –”

“Great! There’s this old guy who hangs out in front of the weapons shop ...”

Aerith had to make a valiant effort not to giggle as Cloud stood there in utter bewilderment, arms full of boots, uncertainly drinking in the details of the next mission. As they walked away, he glanced down at his spoils. “It doesn’t feel right to take this. I didn’t do anything. Could you see your friend gets this?”

 _He’s not my friend_. She bit her tongue before the words could escape. _He’s a sociopathic eldritch outer god who is often bored who has decided to temporarily make an exception in his disdain for humanity as a whole to focus on me._

She eyed the boots. “I don’t think those will fit him, but I can offer.” She let Cloud pass the items to her.

“Why _boots_?”

“Hey, boots are important!” She stuck out a leg with a swish of skirts and waggled her clompers back and forth. “You never know when you’ll have to run for your life,” she added more quietly.

_Broken glass crunching under foot. Stumbling. Being caught up by someone much larger who, in spite of all the horrid disinfectant stench of the lab, still smelled like flowers. Shots ringing out._

Aerith’s breath drew in sharply and she shook her head.

“Hey.” Cloud’s gloved hand squeezed her shoulder. “I’ve seen trauma flashbacks enough to know what they look like. You okay?”

Aerith steadied herself and looked up at him, offering a smile. “I’m fine. I’d ... rather not talk about it right now.”

“Alright.” He took a step back, respecting her privacy.

Aerith took a deep breath. “I think –”

_Veni, veni, venias –_

Aerith nearly choked. _Oh no._

_Ne me mori facias ..._

“Um.” She thought fast. “I ... need a minute. Do you, um ... want to go talk to that man the guy mentioned? I’ll be right there, promise!”

“Uh, alright ... if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure!” _Believe me, I am very, very sure! Please go. Right now? Please?_

To her vast relief, Cloud nodded, then pushed on ahead.

“You can tell him he can keep the boots.” The amused baritone purred at her shoulder. “They’re too small for me.”

Warned by his harmonic resonance, Aerith did not jump. Even in the crowded multitude of the slums, there was _no_ mistaking his presence. She turned – was that a flicker of disappointment in his eyes? _You wanted me to jump, you melodramatic bastard._ No, she should be nice. Sephiroth’s parents _had_ been married. Goddess knew why. She shuddered at the thought of anyone marrying _Hojo._

“If he doesn’t want them ...” Sephiroth, clearly ignorant of any of her thoughts on his parentage, gestured at the boots. “Tell him he can give them to that friend of his.” Clearly, he was feeling magnanimous at the moment.

“It went well then? You left before I could tell you something kind of important about the security robots. They apparently have shielding to protect them from either magic or physical attacks, depending on which is switched on.”

“So I discovered.”

“Sephiroth ... People do have to live here. You didn't just you brute-force it, did you?” She shuddered to think of the collateral damage a frustrated Sephiroth could inflict.

A split second pause. “No.”

“Sephiroth.” _Hi brain, remember me?_ a part of her mind prodded her dryly. _I’m Aerith, the girl you apparently want to get killed. Please stop._

A trace of annoyance mixed with amusement flitted around his eyes. “I was tempted, but overcame the impulse.”

“Oh.” She glanced at his arms, frowned, then tried to recall Masamune from the few seconds when she had last seen it. She seemed to remember it as surprisingly simple, perfectly unornamented blade. “I ... wasn’t aware you had any Materia.”

“I don’t use Materia.” His lips pulled up in a half smile. “Materia loan knowledge. I learn it, at which point the Materia becomes superfluous.” The other corner of his lips pulled upward. “Surely this is no surprise to you. You, too, can cast without needing Materia.”

“Only some things ... Plus, everything I can do? It comes from a profound _connection_. You ...” _You are alone._ Her next breath inhaled sharp enough to cut. He was alone. Nothing _like_ him, just him. His real body may have been immersed in the Lifestream, but all of its billions of voices, crying out around him like the roaring of a cyclone, were as silent to him as the void.

“What I can do comes out of a profound _control._ ” He lifted his left hand, fingers curled. “Even beyond learning from Materia, many elemental effects can be simulated thanks to Jenova’s inherent telekinetic abilities.” He seemed to catch her surprise. “Surely you must have surmised. This is how she was able to rearrange the fundamental building blocks of life into new shapes of matter.” Masamune’s hilt appeared between his fingers. The blade crept out, appearing inch by inch as he constructed the sword in the air between them.

“It is behind many effects you may not have consciously questioned.” Masamune cut through the air between them. An arc of force projected from the path of the blade and sliced past Aerith close enough for the wind of it to ruffle her hair and catch at her skirts. She whirled, heart leaping to her throat. _No, we were standing in front of –_ However, when she looked, the blade of force had disappeared just short of the wall behind her.

Sephiroth smiled. _Did you think I was lying about profound control?_ that smirk seemed to suggest. “It is also responsible for the SOLDIER aptitude for aerial maneuvers,” he added.

 _HA! I_ _KNEW there was a deeper conspiracy at work behind falling!_ Wait, this didn’t actually explain all the times Cloud had survived falling back when he was just a normal guy. _Dammit!_

Sephiroth was in the midst of an explanation about how being able to manipulate matter at a precise enough level could allow one to do all sorts of things, if you had a developed enough understanding of physics. Sephiroth, she was beginning to realize, liked talking about things if you got him going. _Perhaps it’s because he has so few people with whom he can share topics of his enthusiasm?_

This seemed like something she should encourage. The more she learned ... well, the more she could figure out what she was going to do.

Aerith frowned as she thought over what he was saying. “Then ...” She glanced at Masamune. “Why use a sword?”

Sephiroth stilled. She wasn’t actually sure if he was still breathing or blinking.

“I mean ... if you can rend apart matter at that precise a level ... Why not do it on, like ... a blood vessel in the brain?” _Brain ... why are you giving him ideas?_

Two fingers flicked in a dismissive gesture. Aerith’s mind recoiled, reeling, from the inhuman jankiness of the motion; what had been a single, smooth arc had been delivered _too fast_ for the eye to keep up. It was like watching a clip of film where all the frames between the start and the end of the motion had been cut out. _This is unusual; he always keeps his movements languid._

“You battle a fighter with a blade. It’s about respect for the art, if not the man.”

Sephiroth seemed to catch hold of himself and lowered the gloved hand. Aerith wondered if what she’d seen had been a momentary loss of self-control. _Goddess ..._

“There’s also a practical element,” he continued more smoothly. “Such techniques are easier on non-living material. Hence why a man with a sword can block a blow that would bisect a building. The man makes the steel more than steel.” He tilted his head, wry smile on his lips. “I have several theories as to why. Our world, after all, has a vivid and powerful relationship to life. It may even be a property of that _connection_ you mentioned. Or, perhaps it is because Jenova’s power is reliant on will. Even the most simple of living creatures have something analogous to a will, at least moreso than rock or the air.

“Whatever the reason, it makes living matter _slightly_ more difficult to manipulate. While hardly impossible, after a point it becomes less efficient to affect a creature than to create an effect that acts upon it.”

He held up Masamune and smiled. “Or, simply carve them apart with a sword. Particularly when I am _so_ skilled at it.”

With a casual sweep, he extended the weapon as if it were an extension of his arm. The long blade passed over Aerith’s right shoulder, razor sharp edge a mere hair’s breath from her face. He tilted it, so the flat pressed, feather-light, against her cheek like a cool, steel kiss. “Would you deny me these moments of connection? The dance of one body reacting to another? The intimacy of knowing a person so well you can predict their movements? The excitement of trying to read them for the first time?”

The flourish of his weapon cut to either side of her, each casual loop of the blade just missing her. As his hand came up after the second slice, he allowed the momentum to roll the hilt over his hand. Catching it casually in a reverse grip, he lowered his arm, allowing the blade to come to arc up behind his left shoulder.

Aerith’s breath caught. _I’ve never been close enough to analyze it before._ Just thinking about how the physics of it would work with her staff, she realized it was a shockingly difficult maneuver. It wasn’t as flashy as the spinny thing first Zack and now Cloud occasionally did with their sword to show off. Yet the ability to judge momentum and grip _just right_ to get the weapon where it needed to be without dropping it or bobbling the catch had to be the work of numerous hours of practice. It was the sort of move that was highly impressive to people already skilled who knew what it entailed, yet looked casual – almost stoic – to anyone else.

Aerith closed her eyes briefly, gathering her thoughts. _I can’t just rely on surface impressions with him._

_‘Wouldn’t it be great if we all could make the world better just by investing a little bit of attention.’ Alright. Do so. Put aside your instincts for a second; they’re important, but not everything. What is analysis telling you?_

She had just recoiled from the idea of anybody marrying _Hojo_. What must it have been like to grow up as his son? She couldn’t _imagine_ Hojo being anything like supportive – at least in any ways that weren’t creepy as well.

Sephiroth had been created to be a weapon. Shinra had only ever valued him as a weapon. Sephiroth’s speech had sounded like a classic villain monologue from one of the more over-dramatic plays. But what if it was actually how he thought?

When would he have had positive reinforcement _at all_? When he performed well in combat. There _was_ a certain intimacy in conflict, she had to admit. It wasn’t much, but if it was _all you had?_

Maybe that was the lesson here. This was something Sephiroth had grabbed onto because it was a scrap of food while he was dying of starvation. No wonder he’d grown to appreciate the flavor.

 _Is that why he enjoys hanging around with me?_ she thought suddenly. She couldn’t physically fight him, but she did verbally spar with him. That was a type of conflict, one whose parry and thrust forged a connection of wit and intellect.

“Sephiroth ...” she said slowly. “Can I ... can I ask you a personal question?”

Sephiroth raised one fine, silver eyebrow. “You are capable, although I reserve the option not to answer.”

 _Fair enough, I suppose._ “What does ... _‘play’_ mean for you?”

Almost imperceptibly, Sephiroth stilled again. Aerith waited with bated breath. After a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer at all. But then, he spoke slowly.

“Once, I had two friends: Angeal Hewley and Genesis Rhapsodos. After the Second Class SOLDIERs were finished training, we would sometimes sneak into the holographic training room to ...” His eyes closed briefly and he gave a low, one-syllable laugh. “Hmf. ‘Hang out,’ as Angeal used to put it.” His eyes opened once again. “Sometimes, we would engage in sword throwing competitions.”

Aerith watched his face, enthralled. Was that ... warmth she saw? It was hard to tell; he wasn’t likely to give anything more than subtle cues and, to throw further confusion into the mix, his eyes didn’t behave like human eyes. Yet, she _thought_ from the way _this_ smile pulled at his cheeks and softened his face, this might be the first time she’d seen hints of a fondness not tinged by anything cold.

“Sword throwing competitions?”

“Mmhm.” Sephiroth lifted Masamune, holding it like a javelin and drawing back his arm. “The goal was to skewer a dumbapple while it sat atop another’s head.” He chuckled at the memory. “Genesis liked to throw his blade like a dagger.” He tossed his sword upward, catching it by the tip. “End over end. The most ridiculously showy manner possible. Not only did you have to hit the mark, you had to calculate with – absolute precision – the exact point in its rotation when it would hit the target. But he managed it. Perfectly bisected the apple.

“I, of course, pointed out that the competition had been to _skewer_ the apple. This, inexplicably, started a brawl. And Angeal ...”

“Yes?”

“... Was the one with the apple.”

 _How utterly fascinating ..._ It took a bit of adjusting her perspective, but this too seemed a case of bonding through conflict. In this case, the conflict of competition – although it seemed it had evolved into a physical conflict as well. Sephiroth described each person’s actions as if they illustrated a deeper meaning – and, in a way, they had.

 _Genesis: showy; incredibly skilled; felt a_ _**need** _ _to demonstrate just how skilled he was, even if it got in the way of his ultimate goal; likely to fly off the handle if thwarted. Or ... if he was thwarted by_ _**Sephiroth** _ _. Hmm._

_Sephiroth: completely clueless as to why anyone might become very upset when he pointed out the incredibly difficult maneuver done not just to win, but to demonstrate how much more awesome he was in the process, wasn’t actually even close to winning at all._

_And Angeal: the one caught up in all these shenanigans. Poor Angeal._ She felt a sort of sympathy towards the man.

This was all _wild_ speculation. Aerith had no idea how she would go about confirming any of her theories. She’d already gambled pretty heavily just by digging into his personal life as much as she had. Time to step back.

Aerith took a breath, cupped one hand over the other, and bowed her head. She hadn’t watched many professional fighting matches – Elmyra lacked a television, so most of the fights for entertainment Aerith had seen had been slum-scrums – but she seemed to recall it was a point of etiquette to formally bow to your opponent when the match was over, win or lose. She hoped he would appreciate the gesture.

Her instincts shrieked at potentially exposing the back of her neck to the _Wrongness_ , the perversion of nature, _beyond_ , and _never-was._ But it was important to show proper gratitude for what he had done – all the more-so if her suspicions were anything close to accurate.

“Thank you for sharing that with me. Also, thank you for taking care of the Shinra drones. I realize it must not have taken much effort on your part, but it likely meant a lot to the people who won’t be hurt now because of it.”

She glanced up at him. His expression was now carefully neutral, although she thought she detected a hint of surprise, like she had done something unexpected and he was now trying to figure out what to think about it. Time to seize the moment and leave before he recovered again. She’d already been away from Cloud for too long.

“I have to go now. But ... I wanted to tell you that.”

A duelist’s bow. Sephiroth watched the flower girl depart through narrowed eyes. It was a message whose language he understood, which filled him with a moment of surprised pleasure. Suspicious. What was her game?

She had been polite, respectful, and considerate for not making him work to translate her meaning. This was ... strange. He also wasn’t sure whether the message she’d intended to send had been the one he’d received. Was she gloating over some victory or being gracious in some defeat? It had read like a courteous acknowledgment and exit from the field, yet ... how could he be sure?

He would need to watch her even more closely to unravel the unusual ways she seemed to think. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to have much else to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two notes this time around!
> 
> First of all, we realize, yes, Sephiroth essentially did just confirm Aura Theory for this universe. Which gets a little recursive, since RWBY came to the idea of Aura Theory after watching Advent Children. Yes, we find this amusing.
> 
> Secondly, the title of this chapter (Tango) is something of a meta-joke. After all of the discussion of conflict and connection, we went, “Hm, what type of music looks like its dancers are dueling, but are also very intimate ... Tango, got it!”


	9. Audience

_Now things are starting to speed up,_ Aerith thought breathlessly. Once she and Cloud had returned home, events had started progressing exactly as she’d predicted. Elmyra had asked Cloud to leave quietly that night – or at least, so Aerith assumed, since he’d snuck out during the dead of night. Aerith, however, had been waiting. After that, it was just a matter of getting to the right place at the right time.

That had proved slightly more problematic than Aerith had expected. She _knew_ Cloud, even if the reverse wasn’t true. It wasn’t like a psychic awareness of what he’d do next, or anything. However ... simply having all that extra knowledge about how he fought and his quirks already resting in her skull meant – when the chips were down, combat was up, and she couldn’t afford to give it anything but her best – she worked around him like a finely oiled machine. They gelled, which meant they progressed faster. Several times, she had to take up precious seconds by distracting him with fond ribbing. Once, she had refused to let him past until he overcame his aversion to high fives. He was so stiff and awkward, it had bought her some time.

After leading him to the border of Sector 7, she had distracted him with a personal conversation, long enough for the main gates to open and the chocobo-carriage carrying Tifa to trot on through. That had been when things nearly went off the rails. This time around, Cloud ran after it and it was moving slow enough for him to catch up. He’d actually gotten a chance to talk to Tifa, who’d managed to assure him she had everything under control.

“I’ll be fine,” were her last words to him. “You’ve seen how much ass I can kick.”

Cloud ... had respected her desires, trusted in her abilities, and then proceeded to act like a decent guy by stepping back and let her continue on her way.

_No, no, no!_ Aerith squeaked mentally. Of all the times to be a good friend! She’d had to step in and practically whirlwind him into following. _This feels wrong, but I don’t know what else to doooo! Sorry Tifa!_

It would work out for the best, she consoled herself. Don Corneo wanted three potential choices for his ‘bride.’ She, Cloud, and Tifa would make that three!

Cloud had, at this point, been informed that no one but Corneo’s bridal options would be allowed inside the mansion. What was more, the somewhat eerily familiar silver haired man at the door – _Thank the Goddess he was short-haired and a tenor; I was starting to get chills_ – had given them the breadcrumbs they needed to find a way inside. Now all they needed to do was run around finding a fancy dress for Aerith and –

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to dress up and sneak inside.”

_Wait, what?_

No, wait, she could salvage this.

“Well ... maybe you could sneak inside with me! That way we could watch each others’ backs!”

However, Cloud shook his head. “It’s too risky. Who knows what could happen to Tifa while we’re running around trying to get in? Let’s just climb over the wall and fight our way in. We can corner the Don and _make_ him tell us what we need to know.”

Aerith’s heart froze, jumped, and turned over, all in the space of a few seconds. _That can’t be good for me._ “Cloud, the mansion must be crawling with Corneo’s men –”

“ – Who are mostly street toughs, used to roughing up civilians. I bet they’ve never been big news enough to draw the attention of SOLDIER. Between you, me, and Tifa, we can deal with them, but you’re right; I don’t like Tifa’s chances in there alone.”

_No, wait –_

_No,_ _ **you**_ _wait,_ she told that part of her brain. _Think about it; you’re going to need to break from Fate’s path eventually. This might be the perfect opportunity. If we circumvent all the time spent finding outfits and convincing Cloud to go undercover in a dress, that’s_ _ **hours**_ _more time we have to get to the pillar and prepare when we only really need a few extra minutes. I think we can do it! It doesn’t seem like the Arbiters can overwrite Cloud’s behavior like they can with mine, just physically try to stop him. We can fight our way through together!_

“Alright.” She gripped her staff. “I’ll help you win this.” She hoped he didn’t see how white-knuckled her hands truly were.

“Alright.” Cloud turned to look up at Corneo’s mansion. “Let’s find a second story window that looks unguarded. I’ll jump up, then find something to lower down to you.”

“Right.”

They had to circle nearly to the back of the mansion before they found a suitable window overlooking a disused back alley. Aerith took a deep breath as Cloud prepared himself. _The Arbiters will show up any second now._

Cloud’s knees bent, muscles in his legs tightening, then he leaped.

Grey cloaks literally exploded out of the woodwork. Cloud fell, landing like a cat and whipping out his weapon. Cloaks circled Corneo’s mansion, forming an impenetrable wall across each of the windows.

Cloud straightened slowly, eyes narrowing. “Those things again ...”

“Cloud.” Aerith began gathering aether through her staff. “We have to fight them. If we cause enough of a commotion, Corneo’s goons will come running.

“Huh? Why is that a good thing?”

Aerith tilted her head upwards. “Because that will make what they’re attempting pointless.”

“Aerith.” Cloud’s brows drew together. “You know something about these ... _things_ , don’t you?”

_Oh, shit._ It was easy to underestimate Cloud; he wasn’t stupid.

Kicking herself mentally, Aerith glanced up at the circling Arbiters. There was a crunch of grit against cobblestones and she looked down quickly to see Cloud taking a step towards her. “What are those things? Why don’t they want us to rescue Tifa?”

Aerith’s mouth went dry. She glanced around. Cloud caught her by the shoulders, gentle enough not to hurt but firm enough that she definitely wasn’t about to escape. “Talk to me, Aerith.”

Aerith wet her lips. “... They don’t want to stop us from rescuing Tifa. They want to stop us from rescuing her in the wrong way.” A quick glance upward. The cloaks hadn’t changed their pattern of circling. _Thank the Goddess. How far can I push this?_

“They’re called Arbiters of Fate,” she said, taking a step away from him. To her relief, his hands slid from her shoulders without resisting now that she had stopped holding back “They want events to happen in a very specific way, for good or for ill.”

His Mako eyes held level with hers – wary, but not skeptical. “Are they evil?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly ... More like amoral, not immoral. If you have an important part to play later, they’ll protect you. But they also don’t mind people getting hurt – or even killed – if it’s in service of Fate.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I’m –”

With a rushing of fabric, a grey cloak swooped in, shoving itself in Aerith’s face. She stumbled back and Cloud jumped between them, holding his sword at the ready. The Arbiter continued to float there, ominous but not otherwise attacking. Cloud straightened slowly, putting a hand out to Aerith. “It’s alright ... I don’t think they can actually harm us directly. Even when they attacked Jessie, the only reason she twisted her ankle is because she fell down some stairs.”

Aerith shook her head. “They can’t harm _you_ , Cloud. But they can harm me – and they have.”

In that moment, Aerith looked frightened and small. Cloud knew she was tough; he’d seen how she could look after herself. But right then, seeing her shrink into herself in a moment of unguarded vulnerability, all his instincts were winnowed down to one: protect.

_“Hey, Cloud ... you need to protect her.”_

_Literally just thought that,_ Cloud thought with annoyance. Sometimes, even he didn’t know how his mind worked. _Suppose it’s good I’m agreeing with myself. Beats the alternative, I guess._

“Hey. I’m your bodyguard, right? If they try to hurt you again, they’ll have to decide if they can live with harming me after all.”

Aerith looked up at him, her lips parting slightly in surprise. Cloud frowned. “So why can they hurt you and not me? What can they do to you?”

Aerith took a breath, then glanced at the floating Arbiter. “Every time one of them touches me ... I lose something. A part of myself.”

That wasn’t good. If all they had to do was touch her, that made defending her significantly harder.

She shook her head. “But they can’t do that to you. You’re not –”

Arbiters rushed in. Cloud brought his sword up to attack, but stopped when they did. Now three of them were hanging in the air around them, suddenly passive.

“Okay ...” Aerith’s voice was shaky. “I think I’m starting to get the hang of how this works. I can talk about them, but I can’t share any knowledge you’re not supposed to know yet.”

Cloud glanced at her. It looked like he’d have to piece together a lot of this on his own. This wasn’t good; he hated puzzles, for all that he could never seem to resist one when it was actually in front of him.

“I don’t see how all of this fits together. Why did they attack me yesterday and injure Jessie?”

Aerith paused. “I don’t know, I wasn’t there for that ... What happened as a consequence of Jessie being injured?”

“Huh? Well –” _Avalanche_ “– my friends were a man short and needed to invite me onto their team.”

“... And that meant you were there on the second Mako reactor bombing mission,” Aerith said, nodding. “Which meant you were positioned to fall from the platform when the Airbuster blew, which ensured you landed in my church and met me, yes that all makes sense.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything about being on any reactor bombing mission!”

Aerith opened her mouth and closed it. “... Indeed you did not!”

“Huh. I see why these Arbiters want to mess with you if you know things.”

“That is not inaccurate.”

“So ... if the Arbiters care so much about me being in the right place at the might time, much less care what I know ... does that mean I’m special somehow?”

Aerith giggled. “Well, you’re not the _only_ special one. It’s more ... an ensemble effort.”

“Don’t suppose you can tell me why.”

“Definitely not.”

The beginnings of a thought began to stir in the back of Cloud’s mind. There was something important he was _supposed_ to do ... _What if ...?_ His mind turned to certain dreams, the splitting migraines, hallucinations he’d half dismissed as signs of madness, perhaps induced by accelerated cellular degradation ...

“You don’t know who Sephiroth is ... do you?”

Aerith froze. “ _Oh_... Oh, that is _not_ a question they will let me answer.”

_Ah ..._

The Arbiters had begun to swirl around them in agitation. Cloud glanced at them, then took a step back. “None of this matters right now. We still need to rescue Tifa.” He paused. “... You pushed me into rescuing her. It’s important, then?”

“Literally can’t answer that, Cloud!”

“Right. Well, we’re not getting in that way.” He jerked his chin at the windows.

“What? No, we can still fight them!” She gripped her staff, an incongruously fierce scowl on her face and her small frame rigid with determination.

He shook his head. “Not a chance. Not if all they have to do is touch you to hurt you. I know what I'm doing, but I’m not afraid to admit I’m not _that_ good.” Aerith took a breath, fingers curling and brows pulling together in a sign she was about to argue. “I’m not budging on this,” Cloud interrupted before she could speak. “We need another person to watch our backs before taking them on. So let’s go see about getting us a way inside so we can rescue Tifa, shall we?”

Aerith hesitated. “Cloud ... there’s a time factor involved.”

“Then let’s not delay any more.”

Aerith looked unhappy, but reluctantly caved. As they turned to head back out into Wall Market, Cloud couldn’t help but feel a momentary flicker of satisfaction at finally winning an argument with Aerith.

_“Don’t get used to it,”_ the mental voice told him with dry resignation. _“It’s the last time that’s going to happen.”_

* * *

_Okay ..._ Aerith thought to herself a little while later. _This wasn’t precisely what I had in mind ..._

She was left killing time, pacing back and forth in the waiting area of a “hand massage parlor” – _Yeah, uh-huh, suuuuure._ The owner was apparently someone they needed to talk to in order to get inside the mansion and she _would not_ hold conversations with non-paying customers. So Cloud had forked over the gil for a “hand massage.” A rather _large_ amount of gil, in fact.

Aerith was pretty sure this wasn’t how things had gone with the original Aerith. But, apparently, this all fell within some level of ‘standard deviation’ the Arbiters were okay with. _Bunch of hypocritical potato sacks ..._

Familiar chords drifted over her shoulder. Forewarned, Aerith said out loud, “Can you imagine spending so much money on something like this?” She tilted her head back to smile upside-down at Sephiroth.

Sephiroth’s inverted countenance showed hints of what she was becoming certain was disappointment at being unable to startle her two times in a row. His eyes narrowed briefly; she had to fight back a giggle at the mental image of a lashing tail to complement the expression. Then, he gave a languid shrug. “It makes sense ... He doesn’t have the callouses he should.”

“ _Oh ..._ ” That was a _very_ good point, actually ...

Sephiroth’s slit pupils contracted and dilated. His smirk grew more lively; Aerith was learning to recognize the warning signs he was about to amuse himself by playing with her. “Do you want me to tell you what’s going on in there?” he purred with a wickedly helpful air.

Aerith’s cheerful, upside-down smile briefly squeezed her eyes shut. “No thank you!” she chirped, refusing to be ruffled.

“Are you sure? It would be oh so easy ...”

“I’m sure ... Although ...” She turned to face him, right side up. “Are you sure _you_ don’t want one? You must be carrying a _lot_ of tension,” she teased. “Of course, you might have to take the gloves off first ...”

Sephiroth gave her a level stare. “No, I ... _won’t_ be doing that.”

_Ha! I win!_ Aerith placed a tally mark in her mental score counter, resolutely refusing to do any sort of audit of the actual ratio of her wins to his.

“It’s true ...” Aerith said, thoughtfully putting one finger to her cheek and tapping it. “You _are_ awfully carefree for a dead man. I mean, just look at you – standing in the waiting room of a high class establishment where anyone could see you without a care in the world! Also flourishing Masamune in the middle of the street ... and walking me to the church on multiple occasions ... You really _must_ be relaxed if none of that bothers you!”

Sephiroth regarded her, looking amused. “You give people too much credit. Do you know what they think when they see me? They think, ‘Hmm ... That man resembles General Sephiroth.’ Then they go on about their day.” He spread his hands. “What is more likely? The reality? Or that they’re merely seeing someone who looks like me?”

“That might be the case for a normal person, but have you looked in the mirror? Six and a half feet tall? Long silver hair? Over-long sword that no typical person could possibly wield? Glowing green, slitted eyes? You’re a little hard to impersonate, you know.”

He inclined his head, acknowledging the point. “I suppose you’re the expert in spotting what is right in front of your face.”

She beamed cheekily. “Y – wait, why does that sound like a trap?”

Sephiroth _grinned_ at her, eyes glittering with the pleasure of a cat who had been spotted too late to avoid his pounce. “May I point out, you’re going through a _tremendous_ amount of work to deal with a problem you could circumvent quite easily. All this ...” He gave a sweeping gesture with one hand. “All the money you’ve spent, all the danger you accept, all the running around and aggravation ...” He lifted his gloved hand, middle finger and thumb pressed together. “I could spare you it like ... _that._ ” Finger struck against palm in a resounding snap.

Aerith raised an eyebrow at him, then chuckled and shook her head. “It’s not about me, silly.” _And just when did you start becoming convinced enough he wasn’t going to kill you that you felt comfortable calling him names?_ Her voice went quiet and her gaze drifted down to her hands “I have to try. I have to. No personal sacrifice is too high.”

“In that case ...” She looked up to see Sephiroth extending a hand.

She shook her head. “If it were just me, I’d have already given myself to you by now. But it’s not. If I give you information ... it can’t be taken back. And if that information leads you to decide you need to destroy the world?”

“We’ve discussed this; what merit there was to that option, I’ve already exhausted.”

“ _As far as you know._ But if you knew everything, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Her hands tightened in her skirts, rumpling the fabric. Her thumb rubbed over the back of her knuckles in a nervous tic. “I keep asking myself, ‘How many people have to die for my principles?’ But, which principles? Thwarting you will cost the lives of everybody in Sector 7 and the plate above. Yet ... will trying to save those lives cost so many more?”

“Your concerns are based on assumptions and fear. You don’t _know._ ”

“Yes. That’s why I haven’t committed to a decision yet.”

“Well, little flower girl ... don’t wait too long. Time is growing short and you still haven’t answered my question,” he breathed as he turned away.

“Which question?”

“What would you do to save fifty thousand?”

He was gone, leaving only a black feather on the floorboards where he had been.

Aerith heard movement from the back of the establishment and scrambled to snatch up the feather. It got shoved in her pocket along with the first one; she was developing quite a rumpled little collection. She turned to see Cloud stagger out of the back, looking ...

_Oh my ..._

“How was it?” Aerith asked.

“Huh?” In a languid sort of daze, Cloud meandered past her, barely seeming to register her presence.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah ...” Cloud’s hand gave a sort of swipe as he tried to reach for the wall, missed, and ended up falling into a sort of lean.

“... You’re acting weird, Cloud.”

“I am?” he murmured.

“ _Really_ weird.”

The madam sashayed her way out of the back, looking quite pleased with herself. “Alright then. I think I’ve seen everything I need to see.”

_Have you now?_

“Tell me what you want and we’ll take it from here.”

_I want what he had!_ No, stop it brain! Business before pleasure! The situation was serious! _I’ll come back here later,_ she promised herself.

* * *

Sephiroth felt a mild twinge of regret over never having paid much attention to what Cloud was doing during this night before now. It was an utterly _enthralling_ farce. Somehow, the relatively straightforward goal of “rescue his friend” had resulted in ... fighting in a coliseum. _This is ... high-brow absurdist humor. I cannot believe I never allowed it to entertain me before now._

Technically, he was fully capable of viewing events through Cloud’s eyes, but this was all simply too engaging for such a limited perspective. It was probably unwise to distract Cloud with a full manifestation in the stands; as amusing as it would be, it wasn’t worth the risk such distraction could prove to his partner. However, another set of eyes ...

The bouncer could barely believe it when the thin man in the black cloak tried to stumble past him. Did the guy think he was being subtle? He was in a getup that was conspicuous as hell, moaning something about a ‘reunion.’ The fellow was probably some hapless druggie, brain-fried by his fix of choice and wasting away, too strung out to even realize where he was. The bouncer felt for the guy, but it wasn’t his problem. Folks like that didn’t survive long around here and he had a job to do.

The bouncer stuck out his arm. “Hey, _hey!_ Beat it, old timer; there ain’t no free seats for charity cases here.”

The hooded head turned. The bouncer saw dark eyes ... then they began to glow. Like something out of a nightmare, a hellish green light began to shine from them and the pupils contracted into slits. For a moment, those dark pupils became a black tear in the lie that was comfort. The bouncer realized in that moment that he’d spent his entire life striving to become a big fish in a small pond. Now that sliver of void acted as a horrifying glimpse of the enormity of the cosmos and. Just. How. Small. He. _Was._

The bouncer took a step back, then another. “... Not without some free food, that is!” Groping behind him, he snatched up a bag of popcorn he’d been saving for a friend. “Here, take my show snack, on the house!”

The dreadful eyes glittered. A skeletal claw reached out and took the proffered offering. _I find your quick thinking in the face of terror ... amusing_ , those eyes seemed to say. _You may live._

Those eyes turned from him and the bouncer sagged in relief. _Man oh man,_ he thought as the black cloaked figure lurched by. _I don’t know what I just saw. But I do know the cost of one over-priced popcorn is a small price to pay to get away from it with my skin._

Sephiroth stared with amused perplexity through the eyes of “Number 2” – the Shambler who was quickly becoming his default choice for a body in Midgar – at the bag of entertainment snacks Number 2 now had clutched in its hands. _What a curious item._

Well ... Sephiroth abhorred waste. As Sephiroth found a place for the Shambler to settle in the stands among the cheering crowd, he sent a mental command for the body to eat. After all, there was no sense squandering a gift ...

_Is he ... is he eating_ _ **popcorn**_ _?_ Aerith stared with disbelief and astonishment at the black-cloaked figure slowly and robotically reaching into a bag and bringing the white, puffy snack to its lips, one kernel at a time. In the cacophony of harmonic resonance from hundreds of different people, overlaid with the adrenaline pumping pulse of the music of battle, she had almost missed Sephiroth’s distinctive chords; it had been the _sight_ that brought her to a halt. It was so utterly incongruous, for a moment she forgot the yells and jeers of the crowd.

That was, until she heard someone yell, “‘Sup with the pole? Gonna do a little dance for us, baby girl?”

She glanced at Cloud. “Okay. Now I’m mad.”

_Is this what I look like when I utterly demolish vastly inferior opponents?_ Sephiroth wondered, vastly entertained. Ah yes ... last of the Cetra, the planet’s champion, and the host of what was admittedly a pale shadow of true power ... but that true power was the might of a god.

_But yes, they will_ _**surely** _ _be challenged by a man and two dogs._

No, Sephiroth decided; his victories had a certain effortless dignity that theirs lacked ... But it was still fun to watch.

The other battles were not nearly so enjoyable; they lacked any meaning to him. Then it was their turn again, facing a fight where they were outnumbered four to one.

“Hey!” he could hear the florist object. “That’s cheating!”

“The only rule is _there are no rules!_ ” came the reply.

_Mmh, very well. Grind them into the dust,_ Sephiroth thought.

It was, indeed, nearly as complete a victory as he could have hoped for, lacking only the utter annihilation of their opponents. Which, in all fairness, wasn’t the point. This wasn’t war. This was entertainment. Fun. Play. _Besides, these foes are too far beneath them to be a threat. Killing would be wasteful._

Another spate of matches devoid of meaning, then he got to witness the duo tearing apart a pair of robots in a way he thought must sate the lust for destruction in even the carnage-deprived soul.

He made to relax his grip on Number 2 ... but the spectacle didn’t show signs of being over. Sephiroth felt a ripple of unease and disapproval. This was not how the game was supposed to work. There were rules: a set number of matches and, if you were declared victor, you won.

Apparently, ‘the only rule is: there are no rules’ was more enshrined in philosophy than he’d thought.

_This inconsistency ..._ _**displeases** _ _me._

There was a time and place for unpredictable behavior: to confound your enemies. It wasn’t for the people serving beneath you.

His pleasure in the proceedings gone, he watched with a vague sense of disquiet as they set up the stage for another show.

“Tonight’s Corneo Cup has been a spectacle like no other,” the announcers began, “and we shared your disappointment, ladies and gentlemen, when we told you it was coming to an end.”

_Is that what this is about?_ Sephiroth wondered, annoyed. _In that case, you entice them back; you don’t extend their tour._

He watched with continued dissatisfaction as the florist and Cloud were waved back in with fanfare, then their opponent was revealed as the floor of the arena opened and a platform began to slowly rise from the bowls of the coliseum. The creature was small, green skinned, and shrouded in a humble brown robe. A fish-tail trailed out of the back of its robe. Its bulbous head was almost free of features, except for its blank, yellow eyes. In one hand, utterly lacking in discernable fingers, it held a simple, old-fashioned lantern. In the other, it held a small carving knife.

Sephiroth’s far-reaching consciousness stilled. For this instant, every iota of his immense attention was focused with singular intensity on the _incredibly, horrendously_ dangerous creature in the arena. The second most deadly thing in all of existence.

A tonberry.

_They’re going to die. I have to do something._

A moment later, his being was engulfed with a towering _rage._ This wasn’t a fight. This was an _execution._

Cloud readied his weapon, eyes on the creature he was too foolish to realize he couldn’t possibly defeat. Yet even as Sephiroth was readying himself to enter the fray personally, the Cetra girl put out a hand. “Wait.”

Her brow knitted together, her eyes searching the tonberry for something invisible to the rest of the audience. “... It’s only a baby.”

Stretching out a hand, she took a step forward, then another. She kept her body-language small, yet confident; self-assured, yet non-threatening. It was the sort of way one might reach out to a fearful dog still trying to decide whether to bite. _Look at me,_ her posture seemed to say. _I’m an alpha, but I want to be your friend. Trust me. I’ll protect you. I’ll care for you. Will you let me?_

Sephiroth’s consciousness rushed into Cloud’s body. “What are you DOING?” they asked in one voice, for once their minds perfectly in sync.

The florist glanced back in annoyance, then her expression morphed into a reassuring smile. “Trust me.”

Sephiroth closed his will around Cloud’s body, holding him absolutely still. Surely the flower girl was mad ... yet this was no time to risk any action that could aggravate that creature. Cloud’s eyes remained locked on the tonberry. If it lifted its cleaver ...

Sephiroth could be on it between one breath and the next. He would not risk losing the Cetra girl.

The young woman’s hand reached out, inching closer and closer. At last, the tips of her fingers touched the tonberry’s head. Her hand slowly flattened against it and her palm gently caressed the green skin.

The tonberry hopped to all fours and _wiggled_. Behind it, its tail stuck up from its robes and began wagging like a pup. The young woman giggled and scratched under its chin. It dropped its knife and lantern and rolled over and the flower girl ruffled its belly while its entire body shimmied back and forth in enthusiastic squirms.

Sephiroth relaxed his hold on Cloud in profound relief and the boy sucked in a gasping lung-full of air. _Ah, of course; breathing is compulsory._ He put a star next to this fact on his list of things he had figured out about normal mortals to remember later.

“Aerith,” Cloud said after catching his breath. “That creature’s a cold-blooded killer. Not a pet.”

“I know ...” Her hands continued to stroke the wiggling body. “But it was hurting ... Doesn’t that mean it deserves a little care?” She doubled-down on the belly-rubs. “Besides, who’s the second-cutest cold-blooded killer I’ve ever seen?” she crooned as it writhed happily. “Yes you are! Yes you are!”

“‘Second cutest?’”

Boos and yelling were starting to rise from the crowd. “What’s with this lovey-dovey bullshit?” Sephiroth heard one yell. “We wanted a fight!” howled another. A man slapped his hands on the railing and leaned down to yell, “You can’t just befriend your opponent!”

Aerith aimed a dazzling smile upward. “I thought the only rules were ‘there are no rules!’”

Sephiroth projected part of his consciousness into a Shambler several sectors away so he could release a barked laugh, startling passers by. _Oh, clever flower girl ... Clever ..._

One of the announcers appeared to be frantically sucking in information from an earpiece. “Well that was a bit anti-climactic, ladies and gentlemen,” he projected, “ _and the Don agrees!_ So we give you, the _actual_ final match of the night! Buried in the bowels of the coliseum, an unspeakable horror, long imprisoned, set free tonight for your entertainment! The secret star of Don Corneo’s stellar stable!”

The arena rumbled as the floor opened once more. Fog swirled out from the gap and something large began moving within the mist. Slowly, the platform rose revealing ...

_Is that ... is that a_ _**house?** _

Sephiroth stared in utter bafflement. _I knew it. This is absurdist art. That is the only explanation._

The tonberry glanced at the flower girl, then picked up its cleaver and faced the house-shaped creature with deadly determination. The Cetra girl, however, held out a hand. “It’s okay.” She smiled at the creature. “They want a show? We’ll give it to them. We got this.”

Sephiroth mentally shook his head and sat back. Well, he didn’t understand any of this, but that wasn’t going to stop him from enjoying the show.

* * *

“Can you believe we fought a house?” Aerith beamed at Cloud breathlessly as they wound down in the changing rooms. “That was amazing! Also really, really weird.”

“Yeah.” Cloud shook his head. “I’m just glad that it’s all over. Now that we’ve won that prize money, we can get you that dress you need to get inside the mansion.”

Aerith nodded, bouncing on her heels. All this running around, doing this thing for that person to get what they wanted, it was all surprisingly exhilarating! It was like watching a giant puzzle all come together at last – but it involved pit fighting!

The whisper of a chord floated through the room. _Estuans interius ..._

“Time is running out ...” Cloud murmured as he turned towards the door.

Aerith froze. She stared at him, wide eyed, even though his back was to her. Had those been _his_ words?

Fighting down a shudder like someone had run cold fingers down her spine, she hurried after Cloud.

* * *

It was almost time. In spite of everything riding on the moment, Aerith couldn’t help a bubble of girlish glee at the idea of seeing a dress that would make her “look like a million gil.” Now it was her turn in the back of the “hand massage parlor,” cooling her heels in one of the private rooms while the madam acquired her outfit.

She’d never had a fancy dress before. Elmyra’s pension as a soldier’s widow kept them in decent comfort; it was designed to allow a modest living up on the plate, which stretched a lot farther with the low property values in the slums. Combined with the money Aerith brought in from selling flowers in Midgar, where they were a nearly impossible to obtain luxury item, Aerith knew she’d lived a life better off than many. But ... luxury items like this ...

There was something so ... so _joyful_ about the idea of wearing something you didn’t _need_ but made you feel _beautiful!_ She couldn’t wait to see it.

However, the chords she heard first weren’t the distinctive suave-yet-exotic notes of the madam, but another, more familiar melody.

“How very human, to deny your worth unless draped in luxury.” Sephiroth’s dismissive tone seemed to scorn the entire idea.

_Of course he somehow managed to get in._ She arched an eyebrow at him dryly. “As opposed to you, who value who I am as a person?”

Sephiroth’s eyes blinked closed for a moment as his breath puffed out in a chuckle. “Is it not better to value what you can do than what you wear?

“You’d better not still be back here when Madam M gets back ...” Aerith warned.

“... Why?” He seemed genuinely curious

_Because I don’t want to change in front of you, jackass._

Yes, you were supposed to watch fancy dresses being taken _off_ , not put on –

She stamped down _hard_ on that thought. _Not the time, brain!_

“Madam M told Cloud no peeking, or she’d poke his eyes out.”

“Ah. I see now. I like my eyes.” They glittered in amusement. He gave a smile that was only slightly mocking and inclined his head. “Enjoy being gold wrapped up in gaudy paper.”

“That’s not the point of fancy clothes, Sephiroth!”

But he was already gone, leaving – _Not another feather! Ugh! I want pocket space in my pockets!_ She grumpily shoved it in with the rest of the black plumage.

Sephiroth was waiting with arms folded, leaning against the wall outside the establishment. Cloud, he could tell, was half way across Wall Market by the mansion. He was in no danger of being spotted. Sephiroth was not about to miss an opportunity to needle the Cetra girl in his absence.

She stepped out of the madam’s establishment and he straightened, lips parting in preparation for a dry comment. Instead, they remained that way, absent of any words.

He had to admit, at least to himself, that the transformation was ... impressive. Her hair was loose, bedecked in ribbons and flowers and tugging oddly at a memory that he'd have to investigate later. A skilled hand had applied cosmetics to her face, accentuating her eyes, cheekbones, and lips with a subtlety that elevated the craft to an art. He committed the details to memory; elegance deserved to be appreciated.

The dress itself was a vivid red – hm, apparently human eyes _could_ see the color properly. He had never quite been sure they could detect waves that short, but he couldn’t credit the idea that a tailor had stumbled upon this striking shade by accident. It clung to her body, the bold coloration emphasizing the sensuality of the cut. A gold star on a delicate chain conspired with the deeply plunging bodice to draw the gaze to tastefully understated cleavage. All told, it was an ensemble that implied far more than it said, the product of an artistry no less profound than a duelist's or calligrapher's. As a method for the Cetra’s aims, it was above reproach.

All of this art, all of this effort and expense ... in compliance with a narrative she ultimately sought to defy. In fact, the dress, the jewelry, the makeup ... they were all symbols of defiance. Defiance of time running out, of the future the Arbiters demanded, and even – or especially – of him. Of his offer, of any hint of her need for him to avert a monstrous and pointless fate.

He mentally marked a point in the Cetra's column. He'd been wrong; this _was_ beautiful.

He wasn’t blinking. He wasn’t talking. He wasn’t _smirking_ . Something was off, something was _wrong_. She needed to -

“Well, well,” he breathed. “ _Do_ have fun ... _flower girl_.” He paused, then brought his hand up in a flourish like he was holding a duelist’s sword, touching the invisible blade briefly to his forehead, before sweeping her a deep bow. _Point to you,_ the gesture seemed to say. Then, he was gone.


	10. Fugue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fugue is a form of music where a theme is introduced, taken up by other voices, then developed and evolved as the piece progresses. However, in psychology, it also refers to a period of loss of awareness of one’s identity.

_Poor thing ..._ Tifa thought as she knelt to examine the girl lying crumpled at her feet. _To go from dressed up so beautifully to ending up down here? She must be having the worst day._

Tifa had been stuck in the basement ever since she’d arrived at the mansion. When she’d been hit with knockout gas and tossed down here, she thought her plan to confront the don must have been discovered for sure. But no, apparently this was what they did with all audition candidates.

Goddess only knew _why._ The basement was filled with grim instruments of torture – and one incongruous vending machine. _You know, for when your torturer starts feeling a liiiiittle hungry – you can’t torture on an empty stomach, someone’s mom always said! – and you can’t just GIVE them food; that’s bad for business!_ Of course, since the vending machine _was_ this horrendous, creepy likeness of the don himself, maybe it _was_ actually supposed to be another instrument of torture.

The best Tifa could imagine, this whole process had to be some sort of weird tactic to get girls to act more eager for the don. Given his general slimy nature that he obviously thought was adorable, they probably _needed_ to resort to the message, “If you don’t please the don, you’ll end up down here again,” just to get girls to tolerate his presence. Considering how _much_ wealth and power could get some people to overlook, the fact that the don needed to resort to such extreme methods quite frankly said some awful things about him.

_It’s okay. You’re not staying here; you just need five minutes alone with the don to interrogate him, then you can get the hell out of here._

She did feel a twinge of guilt about this girl, though ... Tifa was a skilled martial artist and she had a plan. This girl? She looked so pretty and so delicate ... Tifa could only imagine what the don’s men would want to do with her.

The girl moaned and Tifa bent forward quickly. Maybe there was something she could do to help? “Hey ... can you hear me?”

The girl shot up, making Tifa fall back on her rump in surprise. “Tifa!?”

“... Yes?” _Oh crap, is this someone I’m supposed to know?_ she thought in a panic. This was a textbook social incident nightmare. _She’s not a regular from the bar, I don’t think? Maybe someone from the self-defense classes?_

“You okay?” the girl asked in a rich contralto.

“... Mm-hmm?” _Who aaaare you?_

“Good.”

 _Come on, Tifa. You can’t know too many blondes._ Tifa blinked. “Waaaait a minute ...”

She knew exactly one _blond_.

Not a contralto voice. A _tenor._

“Cloud!? Is that you!?” Tifa felt her jaw drop. Of all the things she could have expected! “Oh my god – that makeup! And that dress – !”

“Nailed it, I know, thank you; moving on.”

Tifa couldn’t stop staring as s – _he_ – pushed _himself_ to his feet – he was wearing _heels?_ – and moved to help up the other girl who’d been dumped in the basement. _This explains everyth – this explains_ _ **some things**_ _._ Tifa now had a whole _new_ suite of questions, but at the very least she had a good reason for being recognized.

The girl in the red dress shook off her lingering wooziness as Cloud steadied her, then her eyes settled on Tifa and her face lit up. “Hey Tifa! How are you doing?”

 _Or not._ “Uh ... Okay ...” _Oh no, oh no, not again ..._

“Oh, right! I’m Aerith, a friend of Cloud’s.”

_Oh thank the Goddess._

“We were worried and thought we’d come help you out,” the girl – Aerith – finished with a warm and earnest smile.

“Um ... Thanks ...?” Well that was ... nice? She thought? _What is going oooon? I have so many questions!_

“Cut the chatter,” Cloud interrupted, denying her the opportunity to ask any of them. “We gotta leave, right now.”

Tifa’s eyes widened as he headed determinedly for the door. “Wait! Not until I’ve got what I came for!”

“You don’t understand. You’re in –”

Quickly, Aerith coughed into her fist. Cloud glanced at her, brow furrowing. Aerith clasped her hands behind her back and gave him a bright, meaningful smile, eyes widening as if trying very hard to send him some kind of signal. What signal, Tifa wasn’t sure – but then again, she wasn’t sure Cloud _could_ pick up on a signal more refined than “I’M TRYING TO SIGNAL YOU.” Possibly needing brilliant, neon lettering.

Cloud glanced from Aerith to Tifa and back . “You’re ... _not_ in danger?” He turned back to Tifa, forehead still wrinkled. “... Why don’t you tell me why you’re here then?”

“Uh ...” _I don’t understand any of thiiiiiis!_ Swallowing her internal confused wail, Tifa set about explaining how she’d found the don’s thugs sniffing around, trying to ferret out information on Avalanche, and her need to confront the don directly to learn why. “But then I realized I’d only be one of three candidates for tonight’s ‘audition,’ she finished up, “and if he didn’t pick me ... it would all be for nothing.”

“Then your worries are over!” Aerith proclaimed. “Because the other two candidates are right here!”

“Wait,” said Cloud, “Is _this_ what we’re meant to do?”

_What?_

Aerith beamed. “If we’re all in on it, then nothing can go wrong!” She turned back to Tifa. “You, me, Cloud – it makes no difference who gets chosen, does it?”

“I dunno, Aerith ...” Tifa said doubtfully. “It feels wrong getting you involved in all this.” What if she got hurt? Tifa was a trained martial-artist; she knew what to look for when sizing up a person. Aerith was fit enough – far moreso than the delicate dress implied, Tifa noted approvingly – yet she lacked the telltale muscle build up around the shoulders and elbows of an experienced fighter. _Plus she’s just ... I don’t know ... She just looks so sweet and I feel like Corneo’s men would eat her alive. I just couldn’t live with myself if that happened._

“Don’t even bother trying to talk her out of it,” Cloud grumbled, sounding resigned.

“D’aww, Cloud gets me!” Aerith grinned cheerfully. “Took you long enough!”

 _I like her,_ Tifa decided. She punched one fist into her palm. _Alright, I_ _ **still**_ _have no idea what’s going on, but now I’m sure of one thing. If anybody hurts her, I will break them in half!_

In spite of her worries, Tifa couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. There was still a risk to this plan, but at least they had removed gambling as a factor. It didn’t actually _matter_ who the don was going to pick now ... She just wondered about it out of a sense of academic curiosity.

* * *

 _Well, I probably should have expected this,_ Tifa thought to herself about twenty minutes later. They had all looked gorgeous and Cloud had been the only one stupid enough to sass the man they were trying to impress. Of _course_ the don had picked him. Tifa wasn’t even upset.

What she _was_ , however, was disgusted and outraged as she eyed Corneo’s men whooping and cheering over what came next. _The winner gets to sleep with that disgusting sack of a man and the losers get gang-raped by his thugs? Why does anyone even sign up for this audition other than to beat information out of Corneo?_

Oh, she was going to _enjoy_ this.

The wild card was going to be Aerith, she thought as she sized up the men. _“One of the most valuable skills you can develop,”_ Tifa had constantly taught novice fighters over the last few years, _“is just the instinct_ _ **to**_ _fight. No matter how inefficiently, with whatever tools are available.”_ When faced with real danger, many people froze. Tifa could handle the majority of these goons if Aerith didn’t get herself captured, but ...

“So ... ladies,” one of the men said with what he clearly thought was a _suave_ leer. “Ready to ... get to it?”

“Yeah!” To Tifa’s surprise, Aerith’s chipper response came before she could say anything. “I guess I’m good to go whenever.” She turned her head and smiled. “How ‘bout you, Tifa?”

 _Oh I am_ _ **sorry**_ _I doubted you._ With a growing smile, Tifa turned to examine the room in a new light. “Hmm ... Four guys between us.” She glanced over and gave Aerith a wink. “Let’s not keep Cloud waiting.”

“Wait ...” one of the men began, stepping within range to get a closer squint at Aerith. “I know you ... the coliseum!” Before Tifa could do more than add this to her growing list of questions, Aerith had responded by cheerfully kicking the man in the shin.

 _Here we go!_ An opening had been created, so Tifa went for it. As the man bent over to grasp at his leg, she took advantage of his head coming down to deliver a resounding roundhouse kick to the face. _Oh Goddess I need to practice more often in heels!_

“Get down!” she commanded as the room exploded into chaos. Aerith obeyed with impressive promptness and Tifa delivered another roundhouse kick over her head. She felt her ankle start to wobble beneath her as she rotated around it and rose up on her toes to keep the spike of the heel off the ground. As she turned to face another of the goons, she caught a glimpse of Aerith taking advantage of her position on the ground to literally pull the rug out from underneath another. As he struggled to push himself back to a sitting position, Aerith admirably followed the 101 rule of combat – fight with whatever tools were available – to grab the nearest –

_Is that a chair?_

Aerith brought it down with a look of absolute glee. FWCRUNCH!

It had indeed been a chair.

Tifa finished off her own final opponent with contemptuous ease. _Not that there are many people who can eat a straight punch to the face, but he didn’t even_ _ **try**_ _to keep his guard up. Amateurs._

Meanwhile, she was _quite_ proud of a different amateur. “Good job, Aerith!”

“It was nothing compared to you!” Aerith replied breathlessly, her face alight. In her excitement, she mimed a few punches and kicks of her own, seeming caught up in the thrill of kicking ass. Tifa flushed and couldn’t help a smile. It was flattering to be gushed over, particularly from someone who’d already demonstrated ingenuity and the ability to keep her head. A moment of eye contact, a flash of a smile, and the girls came together to slap a high-five. _I think I’ve made a friend!_

The door opened and both girls spun at the ready. Tifa instinctively fell into a fighting stance and she saw Aerith likewise squaring up with a look of determination. _Okay, good; I could work with this. Hands need to be a little higher, but with just a bit of training ..._

It was the silver-haired man from the front gate. _What was it; a feminine name – Leslie!_ He entered with his arms lifted, a bundle in one hand and Cloud’s sword in the other. He didn’t seem surprised to see them, nor the unconscious men scattered around behind them. Instead, he gave a sigh and kept his arms lifted with a languid ease that triggered some instinctive discomfort in the back of Tifa’s mind, though the motion was half peace gesture, half offering of tribute.

“I come bearing gifts,” he said to her surprise, “your gear.” He set both sets of items on the floor. “I’ll do what I can to clean this up.” He straightened and gave them a single nod. “Just finish the job.”

 _Oh ... I see ..._ Her eyes widened, then her brow creased together. _Why is he still working for Corneo if he wants to see him dead?_

The thought brought an instinctive surge of revulsion. Tifa didn’t _like_ killing. Lives had _weight._

 _That being said,_ she reflected, _how much weight?_ Three girls a day? For how many days?

 _Perhaps there’s enough balanced against him that killing actually_ _**is** _ _the right thing to do in this situation._

“Thank you!” Aerith called as Leslie turned and headed out to give them some privacy to change. _She’s so polite; I love her._

The girls at once began stripping out of their fancy dresses so they could get back into their normal clothes.

“Oh,” Aerith sighed as she pulled on her jacket, shooting a mournful look at the red dress on the floor. “It's so pretty ... but I felt like I was going to fall out of it the whole time we were fighting. Definitely not the right dress for roughing up a mobster!”

Tifa frowned as she finished sorting through the clothing. “Why is there an extra set of boots?” she asked, holding them up.

“Oh! Those are for you! A guy I know earned them for clearing out a nest of killer Shinra drones, but they didn’t fit him, so he said Cloud could have them, but they didn’t fit him _either_ , so we’re giving them to you!” She beamed. “Because, you know.” She stuck out a leg, gestured down at her brown clompers, and chirped, “Boots!”

 _Oh my Goddess, she is so cute;_ _**we have to keep her**_ _!_

She let her own dress slide to the floor and caught Aerith staring at her chest. This was nothing new, of course, but her eyes were trained too low to be looking at her breasts. _Why ... Oh._ Tifa crossed her arms self-consciously across her sternum. “Ah ... The scar. I ... It’s ...” The words clotted in her throat. She did _not_ want to talk about how she’d gotten the scar.

In fact, she’d rather not even mentally acknowledge she had the scar at all. Even apart from all the traumatic memories associated with it _– And let’s not go down that marmot hole_ – it made her feel ... well, ugly. She already knew she wasn’t very feminine – at least not, say, in comparison to someone like Aerith. The deep, vivid scar just sharpened those feelings, when she couldn't avoid thinking about it.

“Huh?” Aerith’s eyes refocused slightly upward for a second, then widened. “Oh! No, no, no, no!” She flushed. “I wasn’t ... I was actually ... Your abs are _amazing_ , Tifa.”

“Oh! ... Thank you!” She chuckled a little bit. “You’re not half bad yourself.”

“Yeah, but, nothing like you.” Her voice turned briefly shy as she began combing the crimson flowers out of her hair. “I don’t suppose you could teach me how to do some of that ... you know. Kicking ass with just your fists. Or – would that be punching ass? Oh no; that sounds dirty.”

Tifa giggled. “Maybe a little,” she teased gently as she re-donned what she considered a more _reasonable_ bra and pulled on her shirt. _Back to jail, girls ..._ “But, you’re in luck! I actually teach self-defense classes every other week. I’d love to show you a thing or two, if you’re interested.”

“Really? Then it’s a date!”

“Maybe we can hang out for a bit after?”

“I’d love that!”

Tifa finished strapping on her gloves as Aerith tied back her hair with a pink ribbon. The two of them glanced at each other and nodded in sync.

“Okay. Let’s go rescue Cloud!”

* * *

The problem with finally being in front of Corneo while he spilled the beans, Aerith reflected with a self-deprecating sort of resignation, is now she had to deal with being _impatient._ They were _finally_ here, _finally_ extracting the necessary information that Aerith had struggled so long to convey in the face of the Arbiters. And now she had to kept having to squash feelings of: _Come oooon! Get to the critical details already!_

Now that the moment had arrived, it was honestly a bit difficult to pay attention.

_Oh! I have a line coming up!_

“... Because if you don’t,” Tifa was just finishing up saying.

“I’ll rip ‘em off!” Aerith promised, on cue, trying to infuse as much earnest intensity into the threat as possible.

Okay, now she could go back to being impatient. She had to admit, the ambient harmonic resonance was wearing on her. It had the same sort of faux Wutaian trappings that this entire place did. She’d never really been outside of Midgar, but if the music was any cue, this place was as authentically Wutaian as Corneo himself. Which was to say, as authentically Wutaian as Aerith’s mother. Her biological mother.

“Some things are better left unsaid, ya know?” Corneo was whining.

_Seriously? Seriously!? We went through all that, we’re getting down to the wire on time here, and you’re going to try to wiggle out of this?_

“See, I’m not so sure they are,” Aerith purred with a smile that was as friendly as the decor was tactful and culturally respectful. She placed her hands on Corneo’s bed and leaned forward. “Better keep talking ...”

There was a _thump_ as Tifa planted a boot on the mattress. “Or I’ll smash ‘em.”

 _Okay,_ _**I** _ _want to be as hot as she is when threatening agonizing destruction._

At least now he was FINALLY getting to the point. Aerith’s mind turned away from his words and to what was going to happen next. _Blah, blah, blah, Shinra. Blah, blah, blah, support pillar. Blah, blah, blah, ‘As everyone knows,’_ her mental voice pitch-shifted to become a parody of Corneo’s, _‘villains only divulge their plans in a certain situation. But what is that situation?’ ‘When they think they’ve already won.’ BAM! Secret lever pulled, trapdoor opens, and we go tumbling into the sewers. Why does he even_ _ **have**_ _a trapdoor into the sewers in his bedroom?_

That really wasn’t the most important question to be pondering right now.

Aerith still wasn’t completely convinced falling could actually kill people, but if the shock of impact was great enough to knock them out, it would cost them time. She began subtly borrowing _life_ energy, gathering it in a waiting ball. If she timed it right, it would pulse a split second _after_ they hit the ground, repairing any damage from the fall.

Ah, it was her cue again!

“Come on, guys! We gotta go!”

“Before you do!” Corneo called as they started to run for the door.

 _Here it comes._ Now they were away from the bed, they were right over the trap door.

“As everyone knows ...”

_Yes, I know._

“... villains only divulge their plans in a certain situation.”

_Yep, mm-hmm._

“But what _is_ that situation?”

 _Look, the next few hours are going to really suck; I’d like to actually make some progress for a change if you’d just_ _**get on with it.** _

Cloud lifted a hand to point at Corneo in slowly dawning realization. “When they think they’ve already won ... right?”

_Thank you, Cloud._

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a winner!” Corneo did a small, smug dance of victory on top of the bed.

_Oh just pull the freakin’ lever already!_

Corneo stepped back against the wall, resting one arm over a horrendously gaudy gilded statue of a dragon. “You get an all expenses paid trip ...” He gave a dramatic pause.

_Oh my Goddess, just PULL THE DAMN LEVER!_

“... to the sewers!”

_THANK YOU!_

He yanked down on one of the dragon’s arms and the floor dropped out from under them.

 _Oh my, this is actually a much longer fall than I expected!_ But Aerith was ready. Pulling the gathered power tight to her chest, she let it explode in a sphere wide enough to cover all three of them and set it to go off in three healing pulses.

_One –_

WBCRUNCH!

_... Ooooooow ..._

Cloud landed on his feet, knees bending to absorb the impact as his enhancements allowed him to shrug off the brunt of the shock. Tifa pulled herself into a ball and rolled at the last minute, years of training allowing her to turn something that could have broken bones into simply an unpleasant jolt. Aerith, neither possessing Jenova cells nor years of conditioning, smacked into the ground full force and landed in a heap.

A split second later, the second healing pulse washed over her, beginning to repair the damage. But taking that damage in the first place was still _agonizingly_ painful.

 _Is falling lethal?_ she thought to herself in a daze as the magic did its work. _Latest evidence? Inconclusive. But it really,_ _ **really**_ _huuuurts ..._

“Aerith!” She saw Tifa’s face swim into focus above her. “Are you okay?”

“... Ow?” Well, she’d meant to say ‘yes,’ but that _was_ a more accurate description of her current state.

“I think you fell wrong.”

“I’m aware, Tifa,” Aerith murmured in a shaky voice. At least the third healing pulse was starting to sink in. “... I don’t suppose you could teach me how to do that roll thing?”

Tifa smiled at her. “Well, I have some good news. ‘How to fall’ is always the first thing I teach to beginners.”

“Oh good.” She sat up carefully, Tifa moving to help her up.

“Quick thinking with that healing magic.”

“Thanks.” Aerith looked around. “That looks like the way out. Come on; I don’t want to be here when any monsters show up.”

“Monsters? You seriously think he has a trapdoor to the sewers in his bedroom so he can feed people to pet monsters? Doesn’t that seem a little ... I don’t know, like something a movie villain would do?”

“Did you _see_ where he lived? Do you really trust him _not_ to be that over-the-top theatrical?”

“You have a point. Come on, I think all the sewer systems are connected.”

“Then let’s walk and talk,” said Cloud. “And while we’re moving, we’ve got a few things to tell you, too ...”

* * *

Leslie finished stacking the unconscious bodies in an out of the way room and closed the door. It didn’t actually take very long for someone knocked out to wake up again, unless they were suffering severe brain damage ... or got a quiet injection of something designed to keep them sleeping nice and peacefully for a good long while. Corneo had his fingers in all the illicit operations in Sector 6, including the drug trade. Considering this particular drug was designed to be slipped into drinks by the most unscrupulous sort of men, Leslie had no hesitation about using it on the people who guarded its supplier. Particularly not after what they had been planning to do.

He pulled his pistol and checked it. Full clip, no jams. It felt funny in his right hand today; he wondered why. He was functionally ambidextrous, but many firearms had grips that assumed you were right-handed, so he tended to favor that side. He briefly considered switching hands, but regretfully dismissed the idea. The glove on his left hand would just get in the way.

Leslie turned and started walking in the direction of Corneo’s bedroom. Time to see if the girls had succeeded in taking care of Corneo. If they hadn’t, then it was time someone did.

To his surprise, his feet took him past the turn towards Corneo’s private suite. Something was ... calling him. He couldn’t quite explain the instinct, but ... somehow, he _knew_ he had to head _this way_...

He was almost to the big double doors of the entrance when he heard gunfire, screams, and the wet hiss of a blade sliding too-cleanly through flesh and bone. There was a wet spatter against the doors and slowly, they swung open.

The black-clad being standing amid the corpses flicked his sword once, whisking the blood off the blade with a crisp, contemptuous gesture. Long, silver hair fell down his back like a cloak. An electric punch of instincts sizzled through Leslie’s nerves like lightning as the man turned, warring with each other as his pulse thundered in his ears.

The man was death.

The man was _reunion._

Slitted, glowing eyes looked straight at Leslie.

“You ... I know you.” The voice vibrated through Leslie’s bones. The back of his left hand ached, then burned. Beneath the concealing glove, it was as if his tattoo were being scribed all over again, in acid.

Those inhuman eyes examined him up and down. “First in, furthest along. You’re looking well ... Number 1.”

Leslie’s eyes widened. Then he stumbled, clutching his head as a powerful migraine split his skull. He saw flashes, snatches of a history he barely remembered.

_Bright lights. Pain. “Specimen is ... data’s not ... cut it loose ...”_

_Being sent tumbling from the plate, tumbling into the sewer, left for dead._

_Not dying. Getting up. Stumbling in a half-dazed haze through the maze of tunnels. Eventually fully waking to himself under Sector 6 to find himself ... with no where to go._ He had ended up falling into Corneo’s employ soon after, after impressing the man by taking out one of his pet monsters. However distasteful, it was the only option he’d seemed to have.

He looked up at the man looming above him and _knew._ All Leslie was, was a transition, a transformation frozen mid way, a half-way point between whomever he had once been and this god in the flesh. This was who he was meant to be.

A black gloved hand closed on his shoulder. _**Relax.**_ The hand gave his shoulder a little pat. _**Destiny and I are not on speaking terms at the moment.**_ _**I am not in need another body at present.**_

Leslie’s mind translated the meaning into words. With a horror that dropped his stomach down a pit, he realized he was being fed the meaning directly, without it ever being floated through the air as words.

The concept of a cold, vaguely paternal smile filled Leslie’s mind. _**Be not afraid.**_ The amused blasphemy purred through his thoughts. _**I am willing to be magnanimous to those who intrigue me, Number 1.**_

He swallowed and found his voice. “My _name_ is _Leslie._ ”

“Is it now?” Pale lips curled up in a smile. “ _Good_ ...”

The being’s attention shifted away and Leslie got the impression he had just been adopted as something like a pet. Not quite a person, but taken under the wing of a master who took an interest in his well-being – and whose attention was not always comfortable.

The being moved past him, then paused. A black-gloved hand came up, then made a small _‘follow’_ gesture that was technically an invitation ... but Leslie lurched forward as if yanked on a tether. “Come along, _Leslie._ I have ...” That smile curved up into an infernal grin. “... Not _business_ ... _pleasure_ to see to with your employer. You won’t want to miss this.”

He moved onward and Leslie fell into step behind him like he had been called to heel.

The door to Corneo’s rooms were still open. The don was scrambling to throw certain valuables into a bag. It seemed, even with the immediate threat gone, he was still planning to scarper.

The don seemed to catch a flash of silver hair out of the corner of his eye. “Ah, Leslie –” He turned and did a double-take as he realized Leslie was indeed in the room ... and the man in the lead very much was _not_ him. “Who the hell is this?” He looked back and forth between one silver-haired man and the other, noting the resemblance. Then he gave a self-congratulating nod and wagged a mocking finger at clearly having unraveled the mystery. “You bring your big brother in to beat me up? Is that it, Leslie?”

A sulfuric laugh petrified the two simple mortals in the room – _How can something that screams of fire leave me so cold?_

“We share cells.”

That laugh was a promise of flames and ash and rolled across the room like a pyroclastic flow. It froze not with ice, but with the carbonizing power of the inferno.

_Goddess preserve me._

_**The Goddess isn’t here. But I am.**_ Leslie got the impression of a fond pat on the head. _**Don’t worry, Leslie. I**_ _ **like**_ _ **you.**_

The don recovered first. “Hmph. Weirdo.” Didn’t he realize that was Death following him with amused, slitted eyes?

The being took a step forward. “I think it’s time we had a chat ... Corneo.”

“Ugh.” The don tossed up his arms in exasperation. “Everybody wants me to give them information today,” he complained as he swaggered around the bed. “And of course, I’ll give it! But ...” He turned, leaning almost casually against a certain gold dragon. “Before we get into that, I have a question of my own.”

The Reunion, the apocalypse, and the death of stars was standing right over the trap door. Leslie’s breath sucked in and his mouth started to open. _Be careful –_

A hand seemed to wrap around his throat, silencing the words. _**Wait.**_

“As everyone knows,” the don preened, gesturing about with his usual showmanship, “villains only divulge their plans in a certain situation. But what is that situation?”

“When I know I’ve already won.”

“We have ourselves a winner! Wait, what?” The don’s brow crinkled in brief confusion, then he waved a hand angrily. “Never mind. Ah-HA!” He pulled the lever.

The floor dropped away from beneath the silver haired being.

The being did not fall.

“Hee-hee hahaha!” the don crowed in his whinnying laugh as he reveled in his assured victory. “Wait, _huh?_ ” His eyes widened as he took in the inconceivable events taking place right in front of him. “This - this isn’t possible!” He worked the lever frantically a few more times, slamming the trapdoor shut and then open again in rapid succession as if _that_ might somehow fix this utter breakdown of the laws of nature.

A booted foot took a step across the open air.

“Don Corneo ... You embody all the worst elements of humanity.” He gave a small, chilling laugh. “In a way, it’s almost impressive. You have survived so long only because you have kept yourself beneath the notice of powers mighty enough to destroy you. Unfortunately, wretched creature ... you have caught the attention of a _god_.” His lips curled upward. “And now, I have chosen to remember your name.”

Corneo fell back, hugging the walls as he scrambled to retreat before the advancing figure. “What do you want? Tell me what you want and I’ll give it!”

“Oh, the only thing I want from you, I’ll take in short order.”

Corneo reached the object of his seemingly frantic dash around the room. He appeared to trip and fall, then his arm darted under a dresser and emerged with a concealed gun. “Ha-ha!”

The triumphant crow turned into a shriek as a razor-sharp blade skewered his wrist and slowly lifted, pulling him to his feet, then onto his toes. Ignoring the screams and blubbering, the silver-haired being paused thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to Leslie. “You have questions for this creature, do you not?” He stepped back and angled his wrist a little higher, waggling it until the don's gun dropped from spasming fingers. “I have time to be charitable.”

Leslie hesitated, then ducked under the blade to regard the sniveling don. “As a matter of fact, I do.”


	11. Toccata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A toccata is musical composition designed to exhibit the performer’s touch and technique.
> 
> Also, yes, this chapter title “Toccata” and the previous one “Fugue” are partially intended as a meta joke referencing Bach’s famous “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor” because they were originally one chapter divided in two because of length. There is a popular rumor (not quite accurate) that all the best pieces invoking horror, suspense, or anxiety are written in D Minor.
> 
> Fun fact! The working title of the next full chapter is listed in my notes as “D Minor!”

“So you’re saying ...” Tifa said slowly. “Those cloaked _things_ that attacked Jessie ... Those are _literal agents of Fate_?”

Aerith let out a relieved sigh and nodded confirmation.

It had been a rocky road to get to this point, Tifa reflected. Particularly since Cloud had tried to quickly summarize by saying, “Fate is real, its agents are upset, and I think Sephiroth is behind it.”

Fortunately, it seemed they had correctly interpreted Aerith’s agonized gesticulations as a signal this wasn’t _quite_ accurate.

It had still taken Tifa a while to calm down from hearing the word “Sephiroth.” By time she had finished quietly fighting off a panic attack, she realized Aerith had firmly sent Cloud ahead to scout and stayed behind to provide a more calming source of stability and information. It was actually something of a relief to focus on the revelations about Fate, however terrifying the implications might be. _At least it’s a distraction from the memories of losing almost everyone you knew and loved._

“I’m still processing what this all means,” Tifa said, shaking her head.

“It’s a lot,” Aerith murmured sympathetically. “I know I had to take a while to process it all when – erm. When I first learned about it.”

Now it was Tifa’s turn to look over with a sympathetic glance. “So you really can’t tell us anything about the future?”

“Nothing major. The Arbiters mostly seem to get upset about things you’re not supposed to know yet that might influence your behavior if you learn about them too early.”

“What about minor things then?” Tifa asked, opting for a lighter tone. _Yes, I need something light and fun._ “Like, say ... am I destined to find love in my future?” She delivered the question with a flippant smile.

Aerith giggled. “It doesn’t quite work like that. I’m not a seer. I just know what Fate _wants_ to happen. But Goddess, I hope so! You and Cloud would be so great together!”

Tifa was taken aback. “Oh we’re not ... Cloud’s not ... You think?”

Aerith gave her a look with a capital ‘L.’ “Come on; you don’t need special powers to see _that._ I’m a rather aggressive supporter of your relationship, you know!”

“Really? You think we have a shot? I mean, I don’t know if he’s actually interested ... Yes, he did agree to go on a date with me and yes, he did give me a flower –”

“Oh my Goddess, he gave you my flower?” Aerith looked ecstatic.

Tifa blanched. “You gave him that? Oh no. I am _so sorry_! O-on Cloud’s behalf too! That boy can be so dense ...”

“No, no, no! Well, I mean, _yes_ ; he is dense. But I don’t mind! He’s a boy. Boys are stupid.” Aerith proclaimed this with an air of confident fact. “The point is, my gift is being used as a means to facilitate romance. I think that’s _awesome._ ”

“You’re not upset at all?”

“Nope!” Aerith’s voice got a little bit quieter. “Stuff from the planet is about all I have to offer people ... So if it leads to some good, I think that’s amazing.”

Tifa wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. She decided to move on. “I mean, all of this is assuming he actually thought any of it meant anything. Like ... what if he thought I meant ‘date’ like in the same way you meant earlier?”

A pause. “Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about that!” Aerith said breezily.

Tifa continued to fret. “I dunno, Aerith ... I’m still not sure ...”

“Tifa. The guy gave you a flower and agreed to a date. _I think you can take that as a show of interest._ ”

“You think so? He’s seemed so ... reserved.”

“ _Tifa!_ ” Aerith’s voice was thoroughly exasperated by now. “This is _Cloud!_ It took me five minutes to get a high five from the man! He's not going to take a knee and recite poetry, that's just ... not his language.”

“That’s ... not a bad point.”

Aerith linked her arm with hers. “Trust me, Cloud has _much_ worse options than you. You should go for it!”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t _think_ ...” Aerith encouraged, nudging her with her shoulder. “Ask! What’s the worst that can happen? He says he’s not interested, it’s awkward for a few seconds, you deflect onto other topics, and _that’s it!_ He’s not going to end your friendship over it! Isn’t a little bit of awkwardness better than all the awkwardness you’re already doing, dancing around each other?”

“You’re really enthusiastic about this, huh?”

“You’re an awesome person, he’s an awesome person.” She unwrapped her arm long enough to make a motion like a child mashing together two dolls to make them kiss. Tifa giggled.

 _Well, that was a relaxing digression_ , Tifa thought, regretfully turning her thoughts back to more serious matters. “So ... The Arbiters. Fate. Does it pay this close attention to everyone or just us? Why haven’t we heard about these Arbiters before now?”

Aerith smiled and winked at her, giving a one-shoulder shrug. “Well ... you might be a _little_ important ...”

“Oh Goddess. That’s actually really terrifying.”

“Welcome to my life,” Aerith muttered with a sigh.

“So why are the Arbiters interfering now? And, if we fight them ... are we literally on the wrong side of destiny?” The thought was accompanied by a stab of fear. What would the consequences _be_ of something like that? Who might she end up losing, because she was arrogant enough to think she knew better than some cosmic plan? _No, I can’t lose anyone again._

But Aerith was shaking her head again, _emphatically._ “It’s more complicated than that. I _know_ the destiny they want to impose. The problem is –” She stopped.

She stopped.

“Aerith?”

“The problem is ...” Aerith continued more slowly, feeling out the thought. “The destiny the Arbiters want isn’t going to happen. It literally _can’t._ But the Arbiters will keep pushing us along the same path anyway.”

Aerith’s brow crinkled. She’d never really worked through the implications before. Here, down to the wire, it was high time she started.

If they failed to save Sector 7 –

Her mind shied away from the horrific monstrosity of that notion. However, she clamped down on that instinct hard. _You can’t afford to be squeamish._

If they failed to save Sector 7 and they kept going down the road the Arbiters intended, then what? Where would it end?

Sephiroth _would not_ carry out the same plan she had seen in her visions. He was too smart – besides, he had nothing to gain from it. Marching the same steps would accomplish _nothing_. As she fully internalized this, Aerith realized there had been a small, unexamined part of her that had worried ... _‘Maybe trying to challenge Fate is wrong. At least if we follow the path destined for us, we win.’_

But they wouldn’t ‘win.’ Because it wasn’t the same fight. _What was that you thought in the church? ‘You need to be a little less focused on what you “know” is supposed to happen and a little more focused on reacting to what you are seeing in front of you.’_

“The future ... is uncertain. The Arbiters just don’t know it yet. If they have their way, there will be triumph and loss, but all that loss will be _pointless_.”

Tifa looked thoughtful. “Then ... I guess all you can do is try to look out for as many of the people right in front of you as you can.”

“Yeah ...” Aerith mused slowly.

Tifa nodded to herself, seeming to grow confident in her course. “You have to do whatever you can, try to save as many as you can, and not worry about what might happen long-term.” She punched her palm with her fist. “Because once they’re gone ...” Her voice wavered slightly. “They’re _gone._ ” It firmed. “And I’m not about to let that happen!”

“Yeah!” Aerith glanced over at her. “That was really inspiring, actually. I think I needed to hear that.”

Tifa smiled at her. “Any time.” She cupped a forearm with her hand and rubbed it sheepishly. “Not that I’m not still terrified. Even though I know I’m going to fight to save Sector 7 no matter what ... knowing Fate itself might be getting involved is ... I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t eating at me inside. It’s ravenous, like ... like Wedge, on wings night. Sometimes I think it’ll consume me entirely.”

“Then don’t think about it! Think about something fun instead. Like, what you’ll do when we win! We can make a game of it. ‘After saving Sector 7, you’re gonna ...?’”

Tifa started to smile a little. “I’m gonna ...” Her smile brightened. “Go shopping – topside! I’ll buy ... stuff for the bar! Decorations – coasters!”

“Can I come?” Aerith asked a little wistfully, playing along.

Tifa grinned. “You’d better!”

“Then it’s a date!” She laughed. “A second date!”

“I wish getting dates were always that easy,” Tifa teased. Her eyes began to dance. “Cloud can carry all our stuff.”

Aerith grinned. “He’ll be our pack chocobo! He’s got the hair for it.”

“What was that about me?” Cloud called from up ahead, catching wind of his name.

“Nothing!” the girls told him in unison, then burst into giggles.

* * *

“One more thing,” Leslie added as an afterthought. “What did those three who came in here want out of you?”

By this point, Don Corneo had stopped even trying to deflect the questioning. “They wanted to know why I had men out asking about Avalanche!”

“Oh yeah? And why did you?”

“Shinra hired me! Paid good money to find their base, too!”

“Did you?”

“Yes! This little hole-in-the-wall dive in Sector 7 called Seventh Heaven!”

“And now Shinra’s gonna storm it?” Leslie asked wearily. He knew how these things went. Pity; he had no love for Shinra – not surprising, given he’d gotten a glimpse of their dark underbelly from a lot closer than most. He would have liked to see Avalanche hurt them a little more before they went down.

“Oh, they’ll do more than that! They’re going to detonate the support pillar and send the entire Sector 7 plate crashing down on their heads!”

“ _What?_ ” Leslie’s mind went blank. _Impossible._

_**No. It’s not.** _

“Why would you _help_ them with this?” Leslie demanded.

“Because they promised, whatever happened next, I’d benefit big time! Shinra gets to handle any reconstruction efforts, so I’ll have an open door to expand my territory into Sector 7 and take over _two_ Sectors instead of just one! Heh, that’s the _worst_ case! There’s talk about Shinra abandoning Midgar completely and building an entirely new city! I’d get first crack at setting up a criminal _empire_ before any of the competition arrived!”

Leslie stepped back. “You know something, Corneo? You gave me a good deal. Not only did you answer my final question, you gave me yet another reason you need to die.” He turned his back on him and gestured to the malevolent god, who’d been regarding the interrogation almost placidly. “He’s all yours. I’m done with him.”

The being smiled. “You know, Corneo ...” That pyroclastic voice caressed the don. “For all your faults, as many though they are ... You were still _almost_ beneath my notice. Do you know what changed my mind? Leslie, would you open that trap door again?”

Leslie pulled down on the dragon’s arm and the floor swung down once more. They were met with an aggrieved howl. Summoned by the numerous times the trap-door had been opened in a short period of time, the don’s pet monster, Abzu, had arrived for its feeding. It was sitting at the base of the hole, making its complaints about its lack of dinner known with persecuted yowling.

The being waggled his wrist sideways, forcing the don – still on tip-toe – to edge closer to the pit. “I mentioned you embody all the worst elements of humanity. You are petty, inconsistent, selfish, craven, venal, and cruel. All of which I could overlook ... but you are just so _sloppy_ about it. I chose to make the time for you, tiny creature ... because you are absolutely _unworthy_ of the power you wield and the devotion you demand from those beneath you.”

In a single motion, he pulled the sword down and away. Corneo folded over his ruined arm with a scream that ended in a wet gurgle as the being skewered him through the chest, lifting him casually off the ground. A step forward, and the slumlord hung over the pit, his final, feeble struggles slowly fading. The being turned away, reversing his grip and pulling the sword free with a sharp tug that surrendered Corneo to gravity’s clutches. The plaintive yowls from below changed to delighted yips and the sound of happy, wet munching.

The sword flicked once, perfunctorily. Now that the task was done, the being seemed indifferent to the stomach-churning sounds emanating from the pit, as if they were entirely irrelevant. “I have noticed a pattern, for people to die at the hands of the monsters they cultivate.” He gave a scoffing sound. “He was unworthy of the poetry of his ending, too.”

“I’m ... pretty sure you killed him, not Abzu.”

“Debatable.” His eyes focused on Leslie’s. _Oh no. Do not focus on me._

Leslie’s own eyes began to itch, his contacts burning like the first time he had put them in. The stinging grew, like an incitement against the denial they represented.

“Really, Leslie.” The voice was faintly reproving. “Yellow eyes?”

Leslie rubbed them, popping out the contacts, and revealing the faint Mako glow beneath. “They were supposed to be brown.” He looked upward. “You know how many silver-haired men with green eyes there are out there?” He bared his teeth in the facsimile of a smile. “Not. Many. I had to take some precautions, or everyone who had a grudge against you would come gunning for me.”

“Mn.” The gaze turned from disapproving back to neutral. The being stepped up to the edge of the hole and looked downward. A long-fingered hand came up to cover his nose. He glanced down at his sleek, black attire – which included, almost incongruously, Leslie noted, a white flower tucked into the straps of his harness. “No, I ... _won’t_ be following that way. I’m not that curious.”

“... You’re a bit of a showman, aren’t you?”

There was an amused, chthonian chuckle. The glowing eyes closes briefly as the being tilted his head in what was _almost_ an acknowledging nod. “Divine nature, both great and terrible, is so much more satisfying when properly witnessed.”

He turned to head back towards the door, but paused when he was parallel to Leslie. A black glove lifted to come to rest on his shoulder.

“At the moment, you possess two immensely valuable things: a power vacuum, and a scapegoat. Whether you use them to seize this petty fiefdom, or to pursue your own little reunion, it's immaterial to me.”

Green eyes locked, and Leslie felt the infinite grip him by the skull. “I don't care _what_ you do, but do _something_. You can’t sit around waiting for orders; I haven’t the time. I'm interested to see what becomes of you, but I’ll only get to find out if you _decide_ who you are. Be quick about it; the Reunion waits for no man.” He paused, then gave a diabolic smile. “Well. _Almost_ no man.” The hand gave his shoulder a little pat. “Enjoy your life ... _Leslie._ ”

Leslie stood almost immobile long after the being had left. Eventually, he moved to the golden dragon and used the lever to close the trapdoor. Then he sat down on the bed.

He still felt a small pull inside him, like the persistent turn of a compass needle. Even as its immediacy was beginning to fade, he wondered if he would ever be free of it fully. But it was no longer the inexorable tug of a master’s leash. He was free enough. For now.

Direction had always been his problem. He had served Corneo because he hadn’t known what else to do. He had kept on serving him long after his loyalty had been shattered because he still hadn’t know what else to do.

_You can do anything you want now. Just do_ _**something** _ _._

His mind turned to various loose ends and he found it dwelling on what Corneo had said about Sector 7. So many _lives_ sacrificed ... just to get bigger numbers in a ledger somewhere. Someone had to do ...

_Something._

Leslie stood and began to walk quickly from the room. His stride turned into a run. He dashed down to the lounge for lieutenants like himself, a far cry from the opulence of Corneo’s quarters. The don never came down here in person, so things were allowed to take on a more haphazard air. There in the corner was the gaming set up. Leslie lifted the monitor and set it aside. What he was after was underneath, something that had been used to prop up the monitor to a more reasonable height for ages now: a phone book.

Leslie dumped it on the table with a _thump_ , paging frantically through it. _Sector 7 ... Businesses ... “S” ..._

It was an older phonebook; would the number even be listed? Ah! There it was; “Seventh Heaven.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. Leslie waited for two rings.

“Seventh Heaven; how can I help you?”

Leslie balked; that was a child's voice.

He was distantly aware of a stage-whispered, “ _Tifa taught me that!_ ” followed by a soft, much deeper voice, “Here, give daddy the phone, Angel ...”

After some rustling of the phone changing hands, the second voice spoke to him directly. “Seventh Heaven.” It was a voice that neither offered nor expected pleasantries, so Leslie got right to the point.

“Shinra is coming.”

“What?”

“They know where you are, but they’re not just coming for you. They’re going to target the Sector 7 support pillar, kill everyone in the slums, then blame it on Avalanche when you’re safely dead.”

“Now hold up! Who _is_ this?”

“My name is Leslie Kyle. I used to work for Don Corneo. He had his men track down Avalanche, sold the information to Shinra, and now they’re going to destroy all of Sector 7 to stamp them out. You have to get people to the support pillar before they arrive or _everyone_ is going to die.”

Leslie began to hear a distant rushing, along with a ghostly wail seeming to echo with realization and dismay. _What the hell?_

“Wait just a damned minute! How do we know any of this isn’t just some kinda trap to lure us out to some place Shinra knows we’ll be?”

“If you think I’m a Shinra goon and I’m calling you, that means they already know where you are ... which they do. Lucky for you, I hate Shinra as much as you; maybe more. And I’m telling you, Shinra is going to drop the Sector 7 plate if you don’t –”

Scores of grey-cloaked wraiths burst from the walls. Leslie yelled in shock and dropped the phone, going for his gun. He fired, blasting first one wraith, then another, the loud reports resounding throughout the room. Distantly, beneath the cacophony, he could just make out the voice through the speaker shouting, “What’s going on? Kid!”

A wraith dove _through_ the phone – and the floor beneath it – leaving the phone a smashed wreck. Almost at once, the grey cloaks dispersed. They flowed back through the walls with despairing moans, leaving Leslie in the room with a smoking gun and destroyed phone.

_What the hell? What the hell?_

* * *

 _What the hell?_ Aerith thought to herself breathlessly. _Other Aerith, why didn’t you warn me Tifa was so COOL?_

Of course, she knew why. Other Aerith and Tifa had been friends, certainly! But there had been just that _smallest_ tinge of jealousy between them. Both of them had wanted Cloud and, consciously or subconsciously, both of them had vied with each other to get him.

But ... this time, Aerith had resolved Cloud shouldn’t fall in love with her! So without the need for rivalry, now there was nothing standing in the way of getting to know her new friend.

Aerith really hadn’t thought there would be more to it than that, but to her surprise, she was seeing ripple effects. She’d already noticed how gelling with Cloud had made them traverse the ruins of Sector 6 faster – it had actually been something of a problem at the time. Now that many of the subconscious edges had been rubbed off between her and Tifa ...

_We might actually make it. We might actually have a shot at this._

The Arbiters would definitely try to stop them. The certainty gave her the jitters, almost as much as _not_ knowing what would happen next was clearly driving Tifa crazy. The two of them had resorted to trying to distract each other for the sake of their sanity while they kept up their frantic pace. Currently, Tifa was giving her a crash course in self-defense tactics while Aerith hung on the words.

“The point of learning to fight is to win. The point of learning self-defense is to survive. Against a bigger, stronger opponent, that usually means ‘escape.’

“Now, it looks like you figured this out for yourself, but I don’t really endorse nutshots as a staple of self-defense. There’s a certain karmic satisfaction, but it's hard to do without telegraphing at least a little, and it’s such an iconic Women’s Self-Defense –” Tifa widened her eyes dramatically for the capital letters “– image that a lot of guys are pretty wary of it. That’s _not_ a safe combination.”

She held up a lone finger. “So remember what I said about escape! Shins are a decent target, knees even better. Ankles and insteps, too, although both are less reliable if they’re wearing ...” She turned her head, looking at Aerith out of the corner of one eye, and performed a credibly cheerful imitation, “boots! Now, if you’re actually grabbed, a _knee_ to the groin – or strikes at the eyes – can give you an opening to get loose ... but I think you can see why I always start with disengaging and safe falling.”

“I can definitely get behind safe falling,” Aerith said fervently, making Tifa giggle. “Although ...” She flushed a little sheepishly. “I ... do think there’s one area where you’re giving me too much credit.”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t actually kick that guy in the shin because I knew not to do a groin shot. I just didn’t think I could get my leg up that high in that dress.”

“Oh. Well ... it worked out for the best then!”

_Tifa, you’re being really sweet and I don’t deserve it. Thank you._

Aerith was pretty confident she was no slouch in the physical department. She could scramble over piles of scrap, skip across rooftops without fear of falling, as well as climb, jump, and swim in skirts. But she wasn’t an _athlete._ The difference had really been brought home to her when the three of them had to cross a pontoon bridge floating on the odiferous sewer water. Cloud had crossed without trouble – Aerith wasn’t terribly surprised; he was an enhanced being, after all. Tifa, however, had crossed equally easily. She seemed to absorb everything she needed to know about the flow of the water from the first moment her boot pressed down on the bridge, making it bob. Her next step had been in time to that bob, then the next and the next. She made the crossing seem effortless, before she turned and called for Aerith to take her turn.

Aerith, for her part, had found it was _not_ effortless. Her second step clashed with the bob of the bridge, making her stumble. This in turn made the bridge bounce unpredictably, making her stagger about even more. Forced to concentrate on simply keeping her footing, she lost all sense of when to shift her weight and the entire thing turned into a vicious cycle. By time she reached the other side, she had nearly plunged headlong into the disgusting water multiple times and had to take a desperate, flying leap across the last few feet into Tifa’s arms as she _somehow_ managed to sink the last span of the pontoon bridge behind her. Tifa and Cloud had mostly just seemed concerned for her safety, but the whole thing was just _entirely_ embarrassing.

“You know ...” Aerith said quietly. “I’m actually kind of envious of you.”

“Hm?” Tifa blinked. “Really?”

Aerith nodded. “It’s two things really.” She reached up to pull one of her braids. “You’re ... _human._ You’re not born special, you’re not enhanced somehow, you don’t even have a cool weapon. But you’ve worked _so hard_ becoming ... Well ...” She nodded at Cloud up ahead. “Someone who can stand beside a person who _is_ enhanced and not slow him down.”

Tifa smiled a little. “I guess I never thought of it like that. It still sounds like a bit of a consolation prize, though. I know no matter how hard I work, I’ll never be as powerful as, say, someone in SOLDIER.” Unconsciously, she crossed her arms across her sternum. “But it’s not _about_ power. It’s about ...”

“It’s about protecting people, right?” Aerith asked softly.

Tifa’s arms uncrossed slowly as she looked at her. “Yes ... that’s right.”

Aerith smiled and gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I can read people.” She tilted her head. “And that’s the second thing. It’s not just _what_ you’ve accomplished. It’s the _how_ and _why_. Does that make sense?”

“... Not really.”

Aerith chuckled. “Thank you for being honest. I swear, sometimes people are like, ‘Wow! Aerith said something that sounded deep! I’m gonna nod my head to look like I understand so I don’t look dumb,’ and they don’t realize I’m really just rambling.”

Tifa laughed. “Well, I promise to call you on anything that sounds dumb,” she teased with a wink.

Aerith grinned. “Thanks!”

They had to pause briefly to scramble up a ladder. Cloud had been waiting for them and hung around a bit self-consciously at the bottom while they ascended. He seemed to be watching anxiously in case one of them might accidentally slip and fall, or if the ladder gave out, wanting to be on hand in case he needed to catch someone. But he still kept far enough back to avoid accidentally looking up their skirts.

Aerith smiled a little. _He’s quiet and doesn’t always know the right thing to do_ – What was _with_ her life and being surrounded by men who had trouble expressing? She missed Zack _– but he does try and that does count for something._

“About what I was saying,” she said as Cloud ranged ahead again, “about the _how_ and _why_ ...”

“Mmhm?”

Aerith nodded to Cloud’s back and the Buster Sword strapped across it. “Imagine you took the same time and effort learning to wield something like that.”

“I’m not entirely sure I _could_ wield a great hunk of metal like that.”

“Well then, imagine any other sword – or a gun! You could have become a terrifying warrior with a fraction the amount of effort. But instead, you chose to work _extra_ hard to learn to fight with something that has a nonlethal option. Something that can never be taken from you, that you can never be without if someone needs your help _right now_. Something where you _can_ show mercy on your enemies.”

Aerith pointed at Tifa, then opened her hand. “That, right there. That _commitment_ to your ideals on the value of life ... It’s inspiring.”

Tifa was blushing. “Oh dear.” She put her hands up to cover her cheeks. She put on a burst of speed so she could pull a little ahead of Aerith while she composed herself. “It’s funny ... I’m actually a little envious of you, too.”

“Oh?” _Let me guess,_ Aerith sighed internally. _Because I’m special, right? Last of the Cetra, deep connection to the planet, knowledge beyond what any normal person should know – take your pick._ Although, granted, Tifa didn’t know about _all_ of those.

“Well ... you can heal.”

“Huh?” _Okay, I was not expecting that specific answer._

Tifa’s pace slowed and she looked ahead, at Cloud’s back and beyond. “What I’m afraid of more than anything else ... is losing people.” Her arms wrapped around her sternum again and tightened. “I can’t – I can’t do that again.”

Aerith reached out to touch her shoulder, but she started moving again before the hand made contact, not seeming to notice it. “I can _defend_ people. But I can’t actually _save_ them, except by using Materia.” She chuckled a little with pained humor. “A shield can face only one way, you know? I can get up in enemies’ faces, bashing threats, covering for people. But, if someone _does_ get hurt ... I can’t do anything. And ...” She rubbed the back of her gauntlets where she had affixed several glowing orbs of Materia. “If I want to use Materia, I have to choose between shoring up that weakness, or becoming a better shield.”

She shook her head and glanced over at Aerith. “But you don’t need to make that choice. I’ve _seen_ how you heal. It’s just something you can do because of who you are, not because of what you’re carrying.”

Aerith had a brief moment of weird deja vu. It took a second for her to untangle that it reminded her of something Sephiroth had said. _‘Is it not better to value what you can do than what you wear?’_

Tifa would _not_ appreciate any parallel to Sephiroth.

Tifa chuckled a bit self-consciously. “It doesn’t help you’re also so feminine and pretty,” she admitted.

“Huh? But you’re so attractive!”

“I’m _hot_ – don’t think I don’t know it. Some days, I can’t walk to work without some guy or another _desperately needing_ to tell me so,” she said with a grin. “But it’s not the same as being _pretty_. I mean,” she laughed, “do you _know_ why I wear this halter top? I literally cannot find off-the-rack shirts that fit me! My shoulders are a full _inch_ wider than standard sizes!”

“Oh no!” Aerith chortled in dismay.

“You wouldn’t think it matters! Halter tops, vests, oversized t-shirts – those are fine. But anything cute with sleeves and I just kinda ...” She hunched her shoulders, stuck her arms out straight to the sides, and relaxed her elbows to let her hands dangle, all with an exaggerated grimace.

Aerith was practically paralyzed by paroxysm of laughter. “Well, _I_ still think you’re beautiful,” she assured Tifa when she recovered. “Just ... not in the same way! You’ve got _power_ and _grace_ and _pap, pap!_ ” She mimed punching motions and beamed.

Tifa smiled. “Thanks, but,” she gestured at Aerith up and down. “You just look like someone who could be cuddled. Who _doesn’t_ want to be cuddled? Sometimes a girl just wants to inspire poetry, you know?”

“I could make you a limerick,” Aerith offered.

Tifa giggled. “Sure.”

“Oh, crap; I didn’t actually have one lined up for this.”

This made her laugh out loud.

 _Thank the Goddess for laughter,_ Aerith thought as the warmth of camaraderie infused her with a swell of energy. Tension was exhausting; just a little bit of a break was really all she needed to stave off fraying just a little bit longer. _That’s what good relationships do, after all, right? Give you the support you need so you can tackle the big problems._

They had a _big_ problem coming up. _Soon._

_We can do this. Together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in, readers; the next full chapter is likely going to be a long one. While we are working on it, we might post a "Cutaway" (not another "Interlude" yet, sorry) to tide you over during the interim.
> 
> We realize this was ANOTHER chapter without direct interaction between Aerith and Sephiroth. So, if you want to sake your AeriSeph cravings in the meantime, there is an AeriSeph Discord server now! It is not ours, but is run by AeriSeph fans, dedicated to the fandom. We're posting the link with permission:
> 
> https://discord.gg/fNN6CCu
> 
> I am totally posting this link now because it was a deliberate plan this whole time and not because I've meant to do it for a while now, my co-author has been bugging me to do it for a while now, and I still somehow managed to forget for multiple chapters. These are scurrilous rumors that might just so happen to be true.


	12. Cutaway 1: Hojo’s Science Corner #26

_Two days earlier_ ...

Marlene was bored; school was _boring._ She wanted to help Tifa in the bar! A lot of her _other_ classmates got to stay home after the Reactor 1 bombing. But Daddy said her “education was important.” She had whined about it, particularly since the train ride up to the plate was so _long_. When she asked why the other kids around the slums didn’t have to travel so long to get to _their_ schools, Daddy had gotten really quiet. Then he’d said, “I just want the best for you, Angel.” Marlene hadn’t been sure what she’d said to make Daddy sad, so she’d stopped complaining.

It didn’t mean school wasn’t still _boring._

They were watching another “Shinra Produced Educational Video” today. Marlene wasn’t sure what to think about those. Daddy seemed really angry with Shinra. On the other hand, he talked a lot about “Shinra dogs.” Marlene kept watching the videos hoping to see a Shinra-dog; so far, she’d just seen people.

As the classroom lights went dark, Marlene settled in to watch the image projected at the front of the class. A sharp-featured man in a lab coat appeared, smiling intensely at the camera. He spread his arms wide in an enthusiastic gesture. “ _Hello_ , adolescents!” He clasped his hands. “Are _you_ ready to learn some SCIENCE? Come with me, novice scientists, to _Hojo’s Science Corner!_ ”

These last few words played over the title card, spelling out “Hojo’s Science Corner!” in bright, multi-colored lettering and with a bubbling beaker for the “i” in “Science.” Marlene remembered in the first two episodes of “Hojo’s Science Corner” there had also been an excited, cackling giggle that played over the title card. For some reason, in later ones, it had been replaced with a jaunty musical sting.

Professor Hojo held up a knobbly finger with barely suppressed anticipation. “Today’s topic ... _limit breaks._ ”

The children nudged each other, whispering, giggling, and shushing themselves as they leaned forward to stare at the screen in rapt attention. The teacher smiled – clearly the kids were _engaged_ and _learning._ What she didn’t know is they were currently playing the “clock leap game.” Marlene had noticed in one of the earlier “Hojo’s Science Corner” videos that there was a clock on the wall behind Professor Hojo. Every so often, the minute hand would leap forward _a lot_. Sometimes there would even be jumps in the _hour hand._ Now they were busy counting just how many times this happened, to compare notes at recess.

Unaware he wasn’t being watched because his insights were encouraging a new generation to study SCIENCE, Hojo excitedly continued.

“Every person on this planet has a limit break – even YOU, tiny adolescents.” The image changed to an animated graphic. “Inside all of us, we have an ‘inner world.’ But not an ‘inner world of imagination,’ like your parents may tell you.” The graphic showed a thought balloon of cartoon flowers and sunshine and prancing chocobos with princess crowns – only to be covered by a big crimson _**NO**_ and buzzing _bm-bm_ sound of disappointed judgement. “No, this is an inner world that relates to some important aspect of _who you are_.”

The graphic showed a Shinra trooper with the word balloon “I’m a defender of the innocent!” Then a thought-bubble showed their inner world as a place where the trooper – now bigger and manlier – was surrounded by a variety of weapons, fighting off scary, mutated creatures labeled _**monsters**_ from attacking a terrified looking family, then punching masked, gun-wielding people labeled _**terrorists**_ as they tried to set a bomb to blow up a school full of shrieking children.

“Periods of intense stress and fury can cause your inner world to briefly impose itself on the outer world.” The graphic changed to show the poor trooper being wailed on by an Evil Wutaian Ninja – labeled as such _–_ until the trooper exploded in light. The next scene showed the much bigger and more muscular version of the trooper seen from the thought-bubble of his inner world, standing above the startled and alarmed ninja with hands on hips.

Professor Hojo appeared back on screen. “This is the inverse of Summons, who draw you into their inner world – see future _Hojo Science Corner_ videos for more! The combination of _desire_ to change how the world is – found in righteous fury – and _need_ to change how the world is – found in stress – cause the ‘limits’ on your inner world to ‘break’ free. This is why they’re called ‘limit’ ‘breaks,’ yes!

“It’s worth noting that _despair_ saps your will, making it easier to accept this bleak world as it is, and making it harder to reach the limit where your inner world breaks free.” Hojo looked briefly annoyed. “This is not precisely _sadness_ as my more – colleagues might have explained it. Simply ‘being a little blue’ will not interfere with this process. No; despair is a more _intimate_ state involving _breaking the will,_ through such means as – anyway.” Marlene noted a _significant_ clock leap there. “Subjects of my thirteenth thesis not withstanding, let us continue.”

While he was saying this, a banner popped up on the screen under his image, spelling out in a cheerful, multicolored font: “At Shinra, Professor Hojo has many degrees he uses for the betterment of mankind! Learn about your continued schooling today!”

“Reaching the point of a limit break is, sadly, not an entirely conscious process. Unlike _good_ SCIENCE, it cannot be achieved with cool logic.” The animated graphic returned, showing people looking like they were concentrating _really hard_ , then looking disappointed. “You cannot simply summon your inner world when convenient. However!” Professor Hojo appeared on the screen again, holding up a delighted finger. “This is why we do EXPERIMENTS, novice scientists!” The shot changed to show Professor Hojo walking through what looked like a lab. “Through appropriately controlled laboratory conditions, we have determined that properly _motivated_ subjects can, indeed, _sense_ when their inner world is about to snap out and _guide_ the process! However, unfortunately, this appears to be the extent of conscious control.

“Now, the exact manifestation of limit breaks, yes! Those are a _fascinating_ subject! As expressions of your personal inner world, they are _unique_! Although there are many that appear superficially similar to each other in effect.” Marlene felt her eyes start to glaze. “Sometimes this inner world acts upon the world around you, sometimes it simply acts upon your own body.”

The animated graphic showed the trooper from before, with lines drawing from the thought balloon of his inner world to two separate outcomes. One showed the trooper attacking an Evil Wutian Ninja with a bunch of different weapons drawn from their inner world. Another showed them infused with the power and muscles of the version of themselves from the inner world, punching the ninja off its feet.

“Our studies have thus far supported the conclusion that this is indeed the _same_ phenomenon, just expressing differently according to the nature of the active party. Some of these phenomenon have proven quite powerful, such as the case of the –” the audio hiccuped slightly “-nt General Sephiroth, whose limit break ‘supernova’ was used to such –” another audio hiccup “-ing effect in the Wutai war.” A truly awe-inspiring clip of an exploding star was seen on screen for a moment, with the caption _**artistic recreation**_.

“In another _fascinating_ topic; did you know your inner world can change over time, novice scientists?” The graphic showed a child looking at a Shinra trooper with the thought bubble, ‘I want to be just like him!’ Then, in the next scene, a slightly older version of the child looking at a scientist, who was clearly stylized version of Professor Hojo pouring something from one beaker into another, while the child had the same thought bubble, ‘I want to be just like him!’ “Yes! As you progress from the tiny adolescents you are today to the fully realized scientists of tomorrow, _who you are_ will, indeed, change! This is a natural result of the developmental process and experience.” The graphic showed a child in several developmental stages, from stick figure to larger stick-figure in a lab coat.

“But! Once your inner world manifests consciously for the first time, people start to grow comfortable with the idea of what their limit breaks are and what they can do. ‘This is MY limit break!’ can even become a matter of identity!”

The graphic showed the same Shinra trooper as before, first shooting monsters, then pausing with a thought bubble full of beakers, clipboards, and microscopes. Then, when a monster broke out of a lab tank labeled ‘dangerous specimen,’ the now-scientist ripped off his lab coat to show the same heroic, muscled physique as before.

“This is why your limit breaks tend to _evolve_ and have elements added onto them, rather than being replaced outright. Studies have shown that your inner world tends to be most heavily influenced by _who you were_ as a person when you first fully realized it, unless an extremely powerful personal event triggers a fundamental change.”

Hojo appeared back on the screen, clasping his hands together. “And that is our topic for today! As always, it has been a _pleasure_ to take this time to talk with you, small adolescents, and encourage you to learn more about this _fascinating_ planet we find ourselves living upon. Remember! By _observation_ and _experimentation_ , there are no secrets we cannot uncover and no goal we cannot eventually achieve! Let _nothing_ stand in the way of your thirst for knowledge!”

Marlene’s eyes widened. In the background of the shot, out of focus, was a red, four-limbed creature pacing about a glass tank. It had a long snout and a long tail – this must be a Shinra-dog! Its tail even glowed – that made sense. Shinra made the lights work, so maybe Shinra-dogs had light-up tails?

Marlene practically vibrated in place, bouncing up and down with excitement. “It’s a Shinra-dog! It’s a Shinra-dog!” she whispered, too thrilled to let the thoughts be contained even in spite of all the shushing.

She couldn’t wait until Daddy asked her what she’d learned in school today! She could tell him she’d seen a Shinra-dog!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, it's more setting up things that probably won't become important at all in the near future!
> 
> Credit where credit is due: we took some inspiration from the idea of "reality marbles" in the Nasuverse. However, we wanted to give them their own, Final Fantasy flair. Limit breaks are such an iconic part of the setting - and canonically exist within the FF7 world as more than a gamist conceit - so we wanted to give them a fully fledged, in-setting explanation.


	13. Crescendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crescendo – Gradually increasing in loudness or intensity.
> 
> Towards the end of this chapter, we break one of our own rules. While we normally tell the story from “over the shoulder” of one character at a time, the chapter climax is not told from any one character’s perspective. This is because the events are the culmination of too many characters’ actions, all interacting and flowing together, to the point where it would be a disservice to focus on only one.

If Shinra thought they were coming into _his_ house and killing all _his_ neighbors, Barret thought, they were outta their damned minds, and he wasn’t afraid to tell them so! He broke cover as a transport chopper swooped in, hosing its open door with automatic fire until the pilot had to break off or risk losing his entire complement.

His elbow was starting to ache from the recoil. _Good, that’s good. Take the pain, feed the fire. Let’m know you’re here!_ He turned his fury on another chopper, a smaller, armed model. As soon as he had its attention, he dove behind the triple-layer of corrugated sheeting they'd hastily thrown up across as much of the pillar as they could. _Thank you, Leslie..._ He peeked up in time to see something bounce off the helicopter’s canopy, then deflect up into its rotor – where it exploded. The helicopter spun out of view, careening towards the old train graveyard. “And thank YOU, Jessie!”

“Ha! Nailed it!” The lithe pyromaniac cheered her own success, then quickly ducked behind cover as shots from below bounced off the bottom of the platform.

Wedge, covering the stairs with his shotgun, was forced to take cover as well. “Biggs! C-can you do anything about this?” He leaned out just long enough to fire a few more suppressing blasts, then ducked back.

“I know, I know ...” Biggs, lying on his belly and almost entirely beneath several layers of sheeting to protect from strafing runs, aimed through the scope of his rifle at the ground approach. There was an echoing report, then the fusillade bouncing off the bottom of the platform abruptly stopped.

Barret grinned fiercely. In the back of his mind, he was starting to feel the heat of the foundry, hear the clang of the munitions press as it churned out the arsenal of revolution. _Buckle up, assholes._

There was another chopper circling. “Attention Avalanche!” it was blaring from a loudspeaker. “Throw down your weapons and move away from the pillar! Shinra does not negotiate with terrorists!”

Barret’s lip curled in a snarl. _**Fuck**_ _yourself! We ain’t your scapegoats, and you ain’t takin’ one step on this platform._

He ejected spent casings, barrels spinning quietly as they cooled. Then, he dove out from cover and leveled his right arm at the chopper. He drew deep from that inner world and, for a moment, the arsenal was ascendant and the real world forgot what this particular gun could or couldn’t do. The haze and heat of the foundry gathered where his hand would once have been, swirling as the barrels spun up to firing speed, then flaring brightly as an RPG round streaked out to strike the helicopter with a percussive roar.

The chopper spiraled wildly out of sight as Barret ducked back into cover to catch his breath. The sounds and smells of the munition press had faded, as had its heat. It would take time until it could produce another nasty surprise for those Shinra punks. However ... he smiled grimly at the familiar click of an ammo belt fed from that inner world slotting into place. The munitions press continued to churn. Not until the revolution was over and there were no more battles to fight would its furnace cool.

Barret gave a bellowing roar, turning his attention to the next target. The line had to hold. _Ain’t no WAY you’re gonna come up in here and kill these folks on my watch._

* * *

Tifa stared up at the flashes and distant explosions with an ill, chilled expression like all her worst nightmares were coming true. Aerith couldn’t blame her. Her own pulse pounded in her ears louder than any gunfire. She put a hand on her friend’s shoulder and smiled at her. “It’s alright. We can still make it.”

They _could_ still make it. No, they were _going_ to make it. They were _so_ early, and even the Arbiters couldn’t stall them indefinitely, not with Cloud and Tifa as determined to push through as she was.

“Right,” Cloud stepped forward, voice crisp, eyes on the pillar. Even at this distance, they could see bodies swarming around the upper levels. There were the Arbiters. A few seemed to be circling key figures in seeming agitation, but the majority ...

Were veering right for _them._

“Keep moving. We’ll screen for you.” Cloud was talking to her. “If they’re so afraid to hurt Tifa and me, then let us take the stupid risks.” He locked eyes with Tifa and both nodded. “Okay.” He drew the buster sword. “Let’s mosey.”

Cloud set the pace, a brisk double-time down the street. They had barely made it a block when the hurricane of Arbiters engulfed them. Cloud’s eyes narrowed; he drew his sword and struck without breaking stride. He let the motion carry him, keeping his back to Aerith as he pivoted around her with the weight of every swing. Each time he turned, Tifa would dive into the gap, pressuring the reeling arbiters with a flurry of punches before retreating into the circle cleared by the Buster sword. Even so, progress was slow; it wasn’t just that fallen Arbiters were swiftly replaced, but that they seemed to shrug off the punishment after a few moments.

Aerith felt the air dry and crackle, reacting to her fear and stress. She almost heard the planet snarl protectively – and lightning arced in an expanding sphere, reducing a handful of Arbiters to ash in the wind.

It wasn’t enough ... She’d cleared space, but she needed to clear a _path._ She touched one of the materia in her staff with her mind and it answered, its wisdom warm, vibrant, energetic. A sheet of flame tore through the swarm, but they barely made it a dozen steps before the Arbiters closed ranks again.

Then, suddenly, someone mistepped. Aerith didn’t how it happened; maybe she’d been looking in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe Cloud had mistimed a swing. Maybe Tifa hadn’t been there to follow up his opening. Maybe everyone had been doing everything right and there were just too many enemies. All Aerith knew is she heard a yell, then looked over to see an Arbiter wrapped around Cloud’s body like a serpent, pinning his arms to his side.

“Cloud!” Tifa rushed in, but her attention was split as a new wave seized the opening to try to crash down on Aerith. In that moment, more Arbiters swooped in, swirling around Cloud like a cyclone and lifting him bodily into the air. They bore him away, higher and higher and further away from the pillar with every passing second. Aerith caught glimpses of his blond head and thrashing form between the churning hordes of grey cloaks. Then, abruptly, there was the flash of multiple blade strikes, lashing out almost too fast to be believed. The Arbiters dissipated and Cloud was free – and three stories up.

“ _Cloud!_ ” Tifa screamed as he started to fall. She started to bolt back in his direction – _now_ the Arbiters opened a way for her – but Aerith caught her arm.

“He’ll be alright! It’s just a fall!”

“ _What?_ ”

Aerith didn’t have time to explain as the Arbiters swarmed in once more. Her world narrowed to the churning sea of grey cloaks as she blasted, froze, and burned. Even her perception of Tifa became distant; she kept just enough awareness of her presence to avoid hitting her by mistake. Their pace ground to a halt. They held their ground, even in the face of the overwhelming tide, but the constant pressure forced to focus so much on their own defense that they were unable to push forward.

Slowly, they fought their way to a recessed doorway, put their backs to the closed door. The Arbiters seemed content to let them, Aerith realized with a sinking feeling. _Why shouldn’t they? We’re bottling ourselves up. Holding still ... just like they want ..._

Abruptly, the tide dispersed. The Arbiters scattered, flowing away in a dozen different directions. The road was left clear, with Aerith and Tifa still standing in the middle of the street.

“Did I scare them off?” Cloud asked, perplexed, as he finally caught up to their position.

“No ...” Aerith’s hands cupped each other unconsciously in an attitude of prayer as she stared up at the pillar, heart hammering.

Tifa didn’t seem to notice. “Cloud!” She threw her arms around him. “Thank goodness.”

Cloud froze for a full two seconds. Then, hesitantly, his arms came up to wrap around her – just as she was pulling away. The result was a surprised “Oof!” and an awkward tangle. They parted at last with Cloud looking flushed and anxious.

Tifa gave him an uncertain, almost shy smile, then nodded once. Her eyes turned back to the pillar. “Come on!”

They broke into a run. They began to pass people who’d come out of their homes, bleary eyed, to stare up at the commotion on the pillar. “Whatchu got?” they heard Barret’s distant, taunting bellow.

Even as they approached, however, an explosion sent debris flying off at the edge of the platform. Part of the railing gave way and a figure fell, flailing and screaming.

“Wedge!”

The large young man grabbed for something at his belt and, a second later, a thin dark line shot upward. The grappling gun brought the fall to a sudden halt; Wedged yelled in pain as his entire weight yanked against his right arm and tore at his shoulder. A split second later, the piece of metal the grappling gun had locked onto tore partially free. Wedge was dropped another few yards, jolting him yet again, and his spasming hand slipped free, leaving him to crash to the ground with a cry.

His lips pulled back in an agonized smile as the trio reached him. “Cloud ... Glad to see you’re okay ... It’s Shinra; they’re trying to take out the pillar!”

“I know,” said Cloud. “We’re here to stop them.”

Wedge’s face contorted in a pained grimace as he struggled to push himself upright. “I have to go back –”

“No,”

“I can still fight –”

“ _Stop_.” He glanced at Aerith. “Patch him up, alright? I’m going up.”

“Right.” Aerith nodded as the man who claimed to care about nothing tore ahead into the jaws of enemy fire.

Aerith knelt, drawing on the energy of _life_ and shoving it into the damaged body in quick and dirty healing. The chords of battle thrummed in her ears, pulsing with the beat of anxiety. Above her, she heard distant snatches of different melodies – each their own unique song – cut off with jarring finality. She felt their souls go streaming upward as they sped to join the Lifestream. _May your refrain be remembered fondly by those you hold dear._

“They were trying to smoke out Biggs,” Wedge was saying as the healing magic did its work. “I threw him clear of the grenade ... but I got caught in the blast.”

Tifa gave him a worried glance. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay here; I’m going up too. Will you be alright?”

“I’m coming with you!” He shook his head before she could protest. “They’ve got all hands on deck. Even Jessie is hyped up on painkillers. If I can fight, I gotta.” He glanced at Aerith and smiled. “And you do a pretty good job with that Healing Materia, lady!”

 _Not precisely what’s going on._ Aerith opened her mouth to correct him even as she saw Tifa frown, but they both seemed to decide simultaneously that this wasn’t the time.

Tifa started forward, then hesitated, turning back. “Aerith.”

Aerith felt her eyes widen. _No._

“There’s a bar in the center of town,” Tifa said, taking a step towards her, worry infecting her voice. “Seventh Heaven.”

_No, no, no._

Tifa was about to send her to look after Marlene. It was all happening all over again. Tifa’s deep seated terror at the idea of losing those she cared for wouldn’t allow her to send a civilian – no matter how talented – into the jaws of a fire-fight and it wouldn’t allow her to risk the death of Barret’s child if there was even a _chance_ they might fail.

 _“Every time I bothered to check, you do exactly the same thing,”_ she heard Sephiroth’s crooning, relentless voice ringing in her head. _“You always go to save the girl, you are always too late getting out, and you always make a deal with Tseng.”_

It was all playing out exactly the way Fate decreed and she could feel everything spinning out of control.

_“How many people would you say live there? Between the plate, and the slums?”_

There was only one choice. She had to go up on the pillar. There was _one_ tipping point left, one moment where the presence or absence of any singular person could make all the difference. If there was _any_ hope of saving that many lives, she had to commit; she had to try, whatever the cost. _Win everything or lose everything._ If she took half measures and they failed, she’d never know if she could have made a difference.

_But ... Marlene._

A child’s life. A child, helpless and alone, crying in terror under the counter of a bar. A child who _would not get out_ if they failed.

 _“All those lives ... Can you really conceptualize them? As individuals, not just ... a number, a crowd?”_ A mocking accusation that cut deep. All those lives, all those melodies beautiful in their uniqueness. Yet all she could think about was the crying child under a bar. A child whose life she was holding in her hand with her arrogant assumption that _needing_ to win meant they _would_ win.

 _Sixty thousand lives ..._ There was one correct choice.

And she _couldn’t_ do it.

 _There are no Arbiters about now. If you make this choice, you can’t blame it on them._ She remembered the razor steel of Masamune glinting in the wan glow of the sun lamps, so close she half-believed she'd felt its edge against her cheek. _“Let her make her own decisions. Even I would give her that.”_

If she did this, it wouldn’t be because of Fate. It would be because _she_ was making a decision, because _she_ couldn’t be _who she was_ if she made any other choice.

And all the consequences of that choice would fall on her shoulders.

Tifa was still talking. “I need you to –”

“Get Marlene to safety, right?” Aerith’s voice was soft, understanding.

For a moment, Tifa’s brow furrowed in surprised confusion. She could almost see Tifa’s mind flashing back to all their conversations, trying to remember the moment she might have mentioned Marlene’s name. Then Tifa’s eyes widened in sudden understanding.

Aerith gave her a kind smile, a mask meant to reassure her. “It’s okay. I’ll find her.” _I’m putting all my faith in your ability to do this._ _ **Please**_ _hold the pillar without me. Please ..._

Tifa hesitated for a second, then closed the last step between them and pulled the other woman into a hug. “Stay safe,” she whispered in the flower girl’s ear, part order, part plea. Then she took a step back and turned to bolt after Cloud, with Wedge hard on her heels.

* * *

She wasn’t going to call for him.

Part of Sephiroth was almost impressed with her ruthlessness. She was going to sacrifice sixty thousand lives on the altar of her fear of him. He hadn’t thought she had it in her.

He was probably going to have to write off this entire cycle, he thought with a sigh. There was still research he could do, but it was scant consolation against the insight she could have provided – and this had been by far his best chance at securing her cooperation.

With a twinge of resignation, he reached for his body within Sector 7, compelling Number 49 to begin shambling towards the pillar. The body would be lost when it was crushed to death, of course, but he wanted eyes on site, recording for his eidetic memory, until the very end. It was a sacrifice all but irrelevant to him in the long term. Next cycle, he wanted to be able to describe for the Cetra girl in graphic detail precisely what would happen when the pillar fell. He made a note to find and memorize a census report of the sector – names, ages, and professions would all help him paint a clearer picture ...

_Perhaps something can still be salvaged from this._

* * *

Wedge put on a burst of speed, rounding the corner a few seconds behind Cloud and Tifa. Cloud was already pulling his blade free of one trooper, while Tifa had taken another to the deck and was beating him into submission. The third trooper was backing right towards him, oblivious to his presence as he drew a bead on the blond mercenary.

 _Welp._ Wedge blindsided the trooper with the butt of his shotgun and kicked the man's rifle clear of the walkway before he could recover. He’d just brought his shotgun to bear when Cloud finished off the reeling trooper with a downward chop. “Moment you pull that trigger, they’ll know we’re behind them. Wait till it’ll count.”

Cloud turned away, barely too late to catch Tifa’s wince. “Alright,” he gritted, gazing up at the pillar. “The bad news is that they outnumber us and have elevation on their side. The good news is, that the pillar itself limits lines of fire now we’re on it ... and we’re technically flanking them.”

There was a bellowed profanity from above and a Shinra trooper came hurtling past them to land messily.

“Also – and I’m still working out how to use this – it doesn’t look like they’ve been issued grapple guns.”

* * *

As helicopters fell from the sky, people who had just been staring began to run. They surged against the chainlink fence providing the first checkpoint between Sector 7 and Wall Market, demanding at the guards to be let through. The Shinra troopers on duty stood firm and the intimidating figure they cut with their military gear and assault rifles kept the crowds at bay – for the moment.

Then, abruptly, the gate rattled as it drew open behind them. The surprised troopers turned to find a rag-tag group of thugs carrying guns, clubs, and knives leering at them, hostility cloaked in paper-thin affability. The one in the lead, who had a bandanna cut with eye-holes covering the lower two-thirds of his face, swept a mocking bow. “Mr. Kyle sends his regards. He says his people got it from here.”

The pair of troopers stared incredulously. “Mister – _who?_ ”

“Corneo’s establishment is under new management! Mr. Kyle says Shinra troops are not needed; we welcome our brothers from Sector 7 with,” he hefted his gun, “open arms.”

The two goons flanking him launched into whooping laughs, until one of them said, “Hey Beck; I don’t get it! Your arms are full!”

The goon in the lead turned to face the one who’d just spoken. “Yeah, but they’re carrying _arms, openly!_ ”

“... OH! That’s a good one!” The bandit laughed uproariously.

“Call for backup,” the more senior trooper snarled at his subordinate.

“Sir!” The junior trooper shook his head. “With all due respect, sir! We signed up to keep thugs like this in line ... But keeping civilians in a war zone? I think they’re on the right side of this one, sir.”

The senior trooper sneered, but he looked from the steadily growing mob of civilians on one side to the heavily armed gang on the other. He stepped aside. Civilians streamed forward, with the escort from Wall Market waving them through.

“Right this way, people! No need for agitated disarrangement!”

“Yeah! No need for agi ... agit ... I don’t get it!”

“How stupid can you be? It’s crazy simple! It’s – uh ... uh ... when you’re not arranged! Because you’re agitated!”

“OH! I get it, I get it!”

* * *

Aerith ran through the slums, covering her head in useless primal instinct as a helicopter careened out of the sky and exploded against a shanty building half a block away. Her arms over her ears did almost nothing to block the concussive force of the noise and the world reeled as her inner ear rebelled. She stumbled to the ground, bruised her hands and stained her skirts, got up, staggered, swiped an ash-streaked arm across her face, and began to run again.

She was fighting against a growing tide. As choppers fell from the sky and fires spread, people who had only stared before began to run. She hoped they were running out of the Sector instead of deeper into it. “Get out of Sector 7, _please!_ ” she screamed as she ran. _I have to do everything I can to help!_ “Go to Sectors 5 or 6 – anywhere but here!”

In the middle of the river of bodies, a child fell, crying out in shock as she hit the ground. No adult stopped to help her; it seemed she had started running alone.

“Oh, you poor thing!” Aerith rushed over to bend down next to her. She helped the girl upright; it wasn’t Marlene. _What are you DOING? You have someplace to be!_ “I know it must hurt,” she crooned gently as the little girl fought off tears. Aerith stroked her hair in comfort. “But you’ve got to be brave now, okay?”

She stood up, looking around. No frantic parents. But there was an old woman waving and yelling as she guided the throng through an evacuation tunnel, leading in the direction of Wall Market. _The opposite direction from Seventh Heaven._

She couldn’t be doing this. There was _another_ little girl depending on her, right now. The way was perfectly obvious; surely the girl could find her way to the tunnel herself.

The girl’s face was burned into her mind like a brand. She knew it would continue to haunt her until her dying day. _I need to know I did everything I could. I_ _ **need**_ _to._

“I’ll take you to the tunnel,” she told the little girl, who perked up. “Ready?”

The girl gave a firm nod, trying to keep her lip from trembling. Aerith scooped her up. She began steadily walking back to the tunnel, trying to move her body to shield the girl from the pushing of panicked people.

 _“I found it_ _ **fascinating**_ _that every time I bothered to check, you do_ _ **exactly the same thing**_ _,”_ Sephiroth’s voice echoed in her mind. _“You always go to save the girl, you are always too late getting out, and you always make a deal with Tseng.”_

This was why. She _couldn’t_ turn away and this was why she was going to be too late. It was all happening exactly as he’d predicted. She was doing everything right, which meant she was doing everything _wrong._ She _needed_ to buy herself more time to get in, get Marlene, and get out.

_I can’t do it. I can’t just turn away from someone who needs me._

She reached the edge of the tunnel and set the girl down. “Can you take care of her?” she asked the old woman guiding traffic.

“Of course,” the old woman started to say, but was interrupted by, “Betty!” A frantic-eyed young man nearly melted with relief and sank to the ground next to the little girl. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He opened his arms and the girl ran into them. “Daddy!”

The two embraced and Aerith felt her heart warm slightly. _You’ll be fine._

She turned back to the slums, ignoring the calls of the old woman as she tried to yell for Aerith to come back. She had to hurry; she had to _try_ to prove Sephiroth wrong. _It’s not too late. Please don’t be too late._

Rotor blades whirred overhead as more choppers converged on the pillar. One of them came to a halt in mid-air, nearly overhead, and hovered. Aerith’s heart leaped into her throat. _Tseng! No, not now. Not yet!_

Aerith changed direction and bolted under the awnings of a nearby building, breaking line of sight. She cut down an alley and dived around the other side of the shed, circling back in a hope to send the Turk in the wrong direction. The chopper blades thudded overhead as the helicopter speed on, looking for a place to land. Aerith knew in a minute, there would be Shinra troops on the ground looking for her.

_I have to get to Seventh Heaven! Hold on Marlene; I’m coming for you!_

* * *

Barret’s gun was starting to overheat. _I always said I’d take on the whole damn Shinra army myself. Sure as hell didn’t wake up this morning going, ‘Well. Today’s the day!’_ Barret ducked back behind cover and, in a moment of frustration, shook his gun-arm back and forth in an effort to fan it cool.

As another chopper swooped up, Jessie yanked the pin out of a grenade and pulled her arm back to throw. Barret caught a flash of movement and glanced up to see a pair of grey cloaks circling around a piece of scaffolding. _What the-? Those assholes again?_

Jessie threw. There was a giant explosion and the chopper went careening into the side of the pillar. As the shockwaves ran up the pillar, the grey cloaks rammed into the scaffolding; overburdened, it collapsed.

“Lookout!” The barrels of the gatling gun roared, shredding falling bits of pipe and metal, and Barret reached out, yanking Jessie back safely beside him and out of the way.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly. “That was a close one.” She was shaking slightly; adrenaline and nerves. “That was my last grenade.” She checked the clip on her submachine gun. “I’ve got a pipe bomb and a Molotov cocktail left. Not sure I can do anything with those except at close range.”

“I got chopper duty. You just watch y’self. Lots of things trying to kill you up here.”

“I’ll be careful!” she promised with the breezy sort of attitude that suggested she was probably lying.

Biggs dived flat, trying to get a bead on the ground at the base of the tower once more, then was forced to roll away as a hail of fire came from another squad of troopers advancing up the stairs. The lines of bullets nearly bracketed him and Jessie snapped her gun up to fire – then there was an explosion of violence from the back of the squad. A few meaty thunks and shotgun blasts later, Cloud rolled into view, blade drawn. Tifa was there a moment later, followed by –

“Wedge!” Biggs cried, sitting up as he grinned from ear to ear. “Buddy!” The two fell into a back thumping hug. “Glad you’re okay, bro.”

“S’all good,” Wedge said, flushing a little modestly. “Although I’m definitely going to need topping up after all this is over.”

Jessie grinned. “Head’s up!” She tossed him a granola bar from her pocket.

“Ha!” Barret grunted at Cloud as he joined him behind cover. “You’re alive!”

“Happy to see me?”

“Wouldn’t go that far.” Barret reached for his water bottle and poured a squirt over his gun barrels, jerking his face back as steam hissed upward. “Toast t’yer miraculous survival’s gonna have to wait... Pretty dry, up here, if you hadn’t noticed.”

There was a thud as Tifa skidded into cover beside them, rebounding slightly off the sheet metal. She gave them a grin.“Hear that, guys? Sounds like Barret’s buying the shots tonight!”

There was a laughing cheer that drowned out Barret’s, “ _What?_ ”

“And you’d better all be there to collect on them,” she finished more fiercely.

“ _Hrn._ ” Barret cracked his neck. “Don’t worry.” He grinned. “Leading man always sticks around till the credits roll!”

There was a roar of rotors and another trio of choppers heaved into sight. As Barret popped up to hose the gun-ships and prevent them from doing strafing runs, the doors on the central black chopper opened. A pair of figures leapt down to land on the central platform with a deadly grace that belied the civilian appearance of their dark suits.

 _Turks! Aw,_ _**hell!** _

* * *

Seventh Heaven! Finally!

Aerith ducked under a tangled snarl of wreckage, clambered up the stairs, and finally pushed open the doors of Barret and Tifa’s bar.

As the wooden double-doors swung closed behind her, they shut out the sound from outside – and not just the sounds of chaos. The trumpets of warning and the churning of the strings of anxiety – along with the bells that tolled fire and disaster as well as a reminder how short her time was growing – faded away as she crossed the threshold.

Places had their own music, sometimes, and as Aerith’s boots creaked on the floorboards, she sensed this was one of those places. She thought she felt the distant echos of Tifa’s warm piano chords and lilting woodwinds, lingering like a scent. This was a place of comfort and camaraderie; even the hellish nightmare going on outside couldn’t quite overcome that. Yet no longer was this place a refuge. So the bar was silent, eerily dead to her ears.

In the absence of music, one sound stood out all too clearly; the whimpering sobs of a frightened child.

There she was. A small, dark-haired girl, her knees pulled tight to her chest, crying into her little pink dress as everything became _too much_. She was hiding under the sink, just as Aeirth had predicted; a corner small and dark to hide her from the frightening world.

Aerith took a breath. “You’re Marlene, right?”

The voice and the question were unexpected enough to make Marlene look up. Dark eyes peered out from a tear-stained face. “Who – who are you?”

 _A good question._ “I’m ...” Aerith took a step back. From this angle, all Marlene would be seeing was her boots and dirty hem of her skirts. _She_ knew all about who Marlene was. But how to quickly win the trust of someone who’d likely been warned against strangers? “... a friend! Of Tifa’s!” She bent down and put up her fists in an approximation of Tifa’s fighting stance, in hopes this physical proof she’d at least seen the other woman would help put the child at ease.

Marlene looked up doubtfully. Rumpled and filthy, skirts stained and face streaked with ash, Aerith smiled at her.

Quiet on Aerith’s ears, she heard music begin to play. Snatches of a familiar piano theme – Aerith relaxed. _Mine._ It was in an unfamiliar arrangement, overset with a violin that spoke of a smile over resignation in its sorrowful melody. But hers nonetheless. That violin nearly brought her to tears. Yet the music meant her tack was working; she was winning control over the situation.

Marlene sniffed at the mention of Tifa. “Um ... Where is she?”

Aerith went down on her knees, keeping her profile small and unthreatening. Aware of the message her body-language was sending, she leaned forward, to show attention to the frightened girl while keeping her own head closer to the child’s height. “Right now, she’s with Cloud and the others.”

The girl unfolded and sat forward. “Daddy too?”

“You mean Barret?” Aerith nodded. “Yup. He’s there too.”

“Wait ...” Marlene climbed out from under the bar. “Daddy’s not coming home?” She looked up at Aerith with confusion, warring with an uncertainty over whether or not she should be feeling betrayal.

“Not yet,” Aerith told her gently. She put a hand to her chest. “That’s whyI came to find you!” She spread her arms. “Tifa asked me to. She said, ‘Take care of Marlene.’”

She hadn’t, actually. But what was important right now was getting Marlene to trust her enough that she wouldn’t run when Aerith tried to take her away.

“Uh ...” Aerith glanced around. How long until the fires spread here? _How long until Tseng?_ “The thing is ... this place isn’t safe now.” She smiled. “I’m going to take you somewhere safer, okay?”

She held out her hand. Sephiroth had done that. Social conditioning primed people to trust an offered hand.

Marlene sniffled; she hesitated, wavering. Aerith’s lips parted.

“Are they going to destroy the bar?” Marlene asked in a small voice. “Are they going to destroy our house?”

Aerith held open her arms.

Marlene took a few quavering steps towards her, then Aerith wrapped the child in a tender embrace. “I know it’s hard,” she whispered in Marlene’s ear, squeezing in gentle comfort. She sat back and placed her hands on the small shoulders. “Just remember, you still have your Daddy. You can build a new home together. Anywhere.” She kept her eyes steady on Marlene’s, even as her heart seized.

_“Are we going to leave our apartment? All our murals?”_

_“Aerith ...”_ A warm, nurturing voice. _“I know it’s hard. Just remember, you still have me. We can build a new home together. Anywhere.”_

Aerith kept her gaze level and a smile on her lips. “Shall we go?”

Marlene’s lip trembled. Her eyes screwed up and she broke down, reaching for Aerith. Aerith wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug. Aerith’s own eyes blinked too quickly as Marlene sobbed into her shoulder.

She had made the right choice. This was what was needed. _You gave me so much. Pay it forward._ Her arms tightened. _I miss you ..._

In that moment of extreme connection, the world fuzzed. She felt, for a second, the tie to her own mother – to both of them – and to their parents, and their parents, and to all who offered comfort and care since the beginning of time ...

And to the Goddess.

For a second, her knowledge and wisdom opened up before Aerith, even though she knew she would never remember more than a piece of it. The moment took her breath away.

Marlene’s breath drew in and her crying stopped.

“Huh?” Aerith blinked at her as the girl took an unsteady step backwards, then another.

Then she knew.

 _Connection._ She had formed a bridge between Marlene and herself – and bridges could be crossed in more than one direction.

 _I didn’t know I could do that._ Yet as she looked at the child staring up at her, grappling with understanding, she knew that she had unintentionally provided a link to the planet. Through her, Marlene had received a vision of her own.

Aerith smiled, held up a finger, and pressed it against her lips.

After a second, Marlene nodded, expression firming. The pact was sealed.

Aerith pushed herself to her feet and offered her hand. Hesitantly, Marlene reached out, took it for a second, then abandoned it and pressed forward into a hug against her skirted legs. Aerith stroked her hair comfortingly. After a second, Marlene sniffed. “You smell nice.”

Goddess bless the mind of a child.

“Oh?” Aerith murmured, encouraging this distraction. Although if she didn’t know about children’s often blunt honesty, she would have thought it a tactful lie. After ash, dirt, sweat, and running around in the sewers for hours, she had to smell _awful_. Of course, _she_ was still smelling buds in bloom. But it wasn’t from any external world.

“Like ... like our flower!” Now she grabbed _Aerith’s_ hand and dragged her forward, around the bar. Marlene dropped Aerith’s hand and pointed triumphantly.

There it was. The lily as yellow as Cloud’s hair. The one he had given to Tifa. It was sitting in a bottle of water to keep it alive.

Aerith’s breath puffed out in a half laugh. She reached down to ruffle Marlene’s hair, then moved to open the counter door, indicating the way forward. “I hope you remember it.”

Marlene took her hand.

“C’mon,” Aerith coaxed, smiling, leading her forward. “Tell you what. We’ll grow lots of flowers at your new house!”

“Do you think that I could help too?” the girl asked shyly.

“Of course you can! Hey, what’s your favorite flower?”

“Um –”

Aerith never got to hear the answer. As they approached the door, a searchlight stabbed through the windows. Aerith felt a sharp pang.

_“You always go to save the girl ...”_

As they recovered from their instinctive flinch away from the blinding light and Marlene began to hyperventilate, the doors opened. Dark boots, gloved hands, and an expensive off-the-rack suit.

_“You are always too late getting out ...”_

The distinctive figure with his long, dark hair kept deliberately lose and the red dot in the middle of his forehead was staring her straight in the eye. “You lead us on a merry chase, Aerith.”

Aerith’s lips parted. “Tseng.”

Marlene cringed backward as the Turk strode forward. Aerith put a protective arm between them, ushering Marlene behind her skirts. Tseng glanced down at the girl and scowled, almost imperceptibly – just a tightening around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. “Before you say another word,” he said, looking up at Aerith, “know that your options are limited.”

Aerith looked at him, then down at Marlene, huddling in terror against her leg. She bent down and forced a smile for the child. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Okay?” The violin keened in her ears, even as the child looked up at her with hesitant trust and nodded.

_“And you always ...”_

She looked up at Tseng and, this time, the smile wasn’t just for the child. “How about ... we make a deal?”

* * *

Reno pressed Cloud with a flurry of swings, filling the air with the rapid patter of metal on metal before dodging away from the sweeping counterattack. On the other side of the platform, Tifa and Rude traded punches. Barret’s voice roared as loud as his gun as he sprayed the helicopters, keeping them at bay. Jessie stuck her submachine gun over top of the barricade and sprayed suppressing fire at the approaching Shinra soldiers, allowing Wedge to pop up and blast them away with his shotgun. Biggs grabbed the grappling gun at his belt and fired it at a ledge on the pillar above the action. The tiny motor whirred as he was yanked upward. Moments later, he was flat on the ledge, rifle aimed, firing down over the barricades to pick off troopers as they advanced up the stairs.

Reno wielded the baton like a fencer’s rapier, slashing with startling precision along the cardinal cuts before lunging in to jab. He was fast, trying to overwhelm Cloud’s defenses with a barrage of attacks, then playing keep-away any time Cloud turned the tables enough to respond. Cloud nearly skewered him with a thrust, Reno just barely twisting out of the way in time. Cloud caught the moment when Reno’s look of alarm changed to a smirk, then the tip of the baton pressed against the flat of the blade and a jolt of electricity coursed through the metal. Cloud gritted his teeth as his boots grounded him and his gloves ate up the worst of the shock. Still, it wasn’t pleasant – and the taser sting locked his muscles for a moment, allowing Reno to scamper away.

Across the platform, the fight was nearly mirrored. Rude was an inexorable force, weathering Tifa's strikes but struggling to close distance, while Tifa stayed light on her feet, dodging out of the way every time he tried to corner her. His blows were mostly parried while he had to block her lightning fast replies. Rude was a brawler, strong and tough, able to eat more than a few punches and keep on going. But against an opponent like Tifa, he _did_ eat them – and they were starting to take a toll.

Backing away from Cloud, Reno snarled like a fox and reached into his pocket. He flicked out the miniature drone, then was forced to block an overhead swing, dropping to one knee under the force of the blow. As Cloud beat again and again down at the Turk’s frantic defense, blade slicing into flesh even as Reno warded off fatal blows, the drone flew over Cloud’s head. His only warning was a tingle as the hair on his arms stood on end, then Cloud was caught in a pyramid of electrifying energy that seized up his body, as paralyzing current coursed through him.

Reno made a break for the computer console at the center of the pillar. “C’mon, c’mon ...” His fingers raced over the keyboard.

“Cloud!”

Rude over-committed to a punch and Tifa caught him in a hip-throw, slamming him to the deck. Seizing the opening, she broke away, dashing across the platform to help the swordsman. A leaping axe kick bounced the drone off the deck, where it whirred and sparked, delicate electronics ruined by the impact. Cloud was freed, moments before Rude crashed between the two of them, separating off Tifa once more.

“C’mon, _c’mon_.... _Yes!_ ” The computer screen flashed with the words **Plate Separation Authorized: Proceed With Separation?** Warnings scrolled across its face about how this decision could _not_ be aborted once confirmation had been given. The protective cover started to draw back from a large red button.

Cloud put on a burst of speed. Reno dove out of the way at the last moment as the sword chopped down, the heavy blade cleaving apart the computer keyboard.

“Oh no you don’t,” Cloud muttered, driving Reno away from the console with another blow that, even blocked, nearly launched the turk off his feet.

There was a loud _crunch_ as Tifa’s boot connected with the side of Rude’s head. He’d been a little too slow with his block, but just barely fast enough to channel the momentum into a roll. He came up on one knee with one eye already swelling – but he was conscious. His sunglasses, though, went flying away, frames snapped and lenses shattered.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he rumbled, pushing himself to his feet and reaching into his jacket for another pair.

Tifa squared up to him, catching her breath. “Why do men keep saying that to me like it’s _my_ problem?” She whirled in with a kick that Rude blocked with both arms, then skipped out of reach of his retaliatory side kick. With a stoic growl, the Turk stalked after her.

“Dammit!” Reno was clearly getting the worst of it now. Cloud was pressing in, not letting him go on the offensive again. Reno swore, flipped his baton over into a reverse grip, and reached into his pocket. The shadow of the buster sword brought his arm up instinctively in defense – and the heavy blade crashed onto the baton lying like a bracing along his forearm. The metal stopped the limb from being severed, but the power of the blow forced his arm back and Cloud’s blade sliced deep into his collarbone, driving him to the ground with a cry of pain.

Cloud was sure the Turk was done, when the man’s other arm came up to slap something against the side of the blade. Then Reno heaved against the weapon, sliding out from under it as the electromagnet came alive, pinning the blade to the deck plating. Reno took off at a scrabbling, unsteady run, trailing blood.

Cloud abandoned the sword in desperation and went after the man with his fists, but a grey cloak rose through the deck plating, tangling his strike and bogging him down.

“No!” Tifa made to dodge around Rude, but paid for her distraction when he floored her with a clothesline. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she rolled with the force of the blow, tucking her head and pivoting on her shoulders to scissor Rude's legs out from under him. Rude landed heavily and she pulled her legs back under her to spring into a dead run, desperately lunging to intercept other Turk.

Too late.

Reno’s hand slammed down on the button. The air was rent with warning klaxons.

“You son of a bitch!” came Barret’s despairing cry. “What have you _DONE?_ ”

With the aircraft suddenly free of suppressive fire as Barret ran for the console, choppers swooped in. Except now they didn’t disgorge troops, but evacuated them. While Cloud and Tifa bolted for the computer, Rude grabbed his bleeding partner and began to carry him in the direction of the nearest helicopter.

Tifa caught herself on the edge of the console. Her hands hovered over the ruined keyboard, starting to tremble as all self control broke down. “How do we stop it?” Her voice nearly cracked as Cloud and Barret caught up to her. “What do we do?”

Abruptly, the screen changed. While the two Turks were being loaded onto the evacuation helicopters, a live video feed captured the defenders' attention.

“Nothing,” Tseng told them, all business. “There is nothing you can do now.”

Tifa nearly leaned through the monitor in her desperation. “You can’t do this!”

“Tifa!” Tifa and Cloud gasped at the familiar, muffled voice and, a second later, Aerith pushed her way on screen. “I found Marlene!”

“Marlene?” Barret demanded, his voice growing frantic. “ _My Marlene?_ ”

In the chopper, Tseng raised a hand, silently ordering a trooper to secure the prisoner.

“C’mon,” the trooper grunted, catching her by the arm.

“Wait!” Aerith fought to keep in view of the camera a moment longer. _Cloud’s eyes._

_“Time is running out ...” Cloud had murmured as he turned towards the door._

_Aerith froze. She stared at him, wide eyed, even though his back was to her. Had those been_ _**his** _ _words?_

“Sephiroth, I have your answer!” she screamed. “For sixty-thousand lives: _anything!_ ”

Inside Aerith’s pocket, the black feathers crumbled. The black mist swirled slowly up her body in midnight streams, and a chill wind ruffled the hair of everyone in the enclosed space.

“ _ **Remember this moment ... in the depths of your despair, you cried out to me ...**_ ”

Tseng stumbled in shock. The voice filled the compartment – but it was the shock of logical _impossibility_ that had thrown him. For that voice was also coming out of the speaker, as black mist took shape behind the trio on the monitor feed. Silver hair caught the light of a burning helicopter; green eyes flashed, dark slits focusing on the camera in predatory triumph.

“... and _I_ did not forsake you.”

Sephiroth casually raised his arm, as explosions rocked the pillar and sections of concrete were blasted away. As the steel sky began to fall, Sephiroth unleashed a wave of telekinetic force ... and caught the Sector 7 plate.

A ripple pulsed through the air above the slums with a contrabass hum, an inescapable pressure that temporarily silenced all explosions, all sounds of panic – all music.

Then, with a cacophonous scream, every Arbiter in Midgar began to converge on the pillar.


	14. Fermata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fermata is a musical symbol that signals a note should be held indefinitely, until the conductor gives the signal to continue.

“ _Sephiroth!_ ” With a scream of fury, Cloud threw himself at Sephiroth. Masamune came up, not in a parry, but a block. It caught the Buster sword low on its blade, bringing it to a jarring stop. Reptilian green eyes met furious blue ones for a split second, then Sephiroth flicked his wrist, sending Cloud skidding to the plate several yards away.

Tifa stood frozen, locked in place by sheer, overwhelming _terror_. Even Barret’s cry of, “ _What the-_ ” barely reached her.

This was her nightmare. She was about to lose it all _again_ and Sephiroth was here _again._

_How? How? How?_

Sephiroth’s lip curled up in a smirk. “Ironic.” The baritone voice seemed to caress Cloud like a purr. Those inhuman eyes weren’t turned in her direction. “If you had fought with such ferocity mere moments ago, we would not be in this situation.”

His gazed turned outward, towards the onrushing hurricane of Arbiters that swept towards them with the roar of a cyclone. “But we have other matters to attend to. Assist if you wish, but if not, _stay out of my way._ ”

Cloud’s lip curled back in a snarl and gathered his feet under him to charge, but found his path blocked by Barret’s arm. “Now hold up! Boy, _have you lost your mind?_ Not lookin’ at _how_ , but is he, or is he _not_ , holding up the entire goddamn plate?”

“Barret,” Tifa managed to choke out, “you don’t know who this is –”

“Think I don’t watch the news? _‘Course_ I know who that is – and I have _given up_ on this day makin’ sense! But while we’re talkin’ ‘bout the news, seems like you’re a little _hazy_ on CURRENT EVENTS!” He snapped his gun arm upward and out to encompass _everything_. “Look, I don’t care if he killed your daddy – _we got bigger shit to DEAL with right now!_ ”

“He ... actually did kill my father ... and Cloud’s mother.”

“Then _compartmentalize;_ we’ll deal with that _later!_ ”

Cloud’s face twitched with a spasm of hate as he stared at Sephiroth, but he turned and leveled his sword at the oncoming tide.

Tifa spared another terrified glance for the silver-haired man, then forced herself to turn her back on him and squared up to fight. _That’s right,_ she reminded herself. _You haven’t lost everyone yet. Things are different this time._

VERY different. She was still grappling with just _how_ different and _why_ this could possibly be. _Take a leaf from Barret’s book; give up on it making sense. Just fight._

She didn’t have time for more as the tidal-wave of Arbiters crashed down on them. Now, all she _could_ do was fight.

* * *

“Seven seconds to the end ...” Sephiroth murmured out loud. He shook his head. “Infuriating woman.”

The fact she had _technically_ not waited to the last second did nothing to relieve his exasperation. _If she’d called me yesterday, I could have just severed a few wires and called it done. If she’d called me two minutes ago, I could have stopped the Turks from pressing the button with ease._

This was actually going to take _effort._

Still, a part of him reveled in the opportunity to unleash his might in such a public display. _None but I could do this. Know me and be in awe._

Cloud and the others were in engaged in a pitched battle with the Arbiters. Sephiroth all but ignored them; he had loftier concerns. _Loftier indeed, for they are both grand and elevated._ The wordplay amused him, even if –

A keening Arbiter swooped towards him. He unmade it with a casual swipe of Masamune; due recompense for interrupting his thoughts.

– even if no one besides himself was privy to enjoy it.

 _As gratifying as savoring this moment may be, there is a deadline._ Powerful as he was, even _he_ couldn’t keep holding up the plate forever.

 _The problem isn’t the power,_ he thought, annoyed. The problem was the body. Trivial displays of power – such as rapidly speeding into position from where he’d been hovering and observing just outside the edge of Sector 7 – caused little strain, certainly nothing he could not then also repair. Yet with the massive amounts of power being channeled through it now, it was risking burning out, like a live wire conducting too much current.

He had been willing to sacrifice Number 49, to be sure, and he had no greater attachment to Number 2. However, now that options had –

He gave Masamune another pair of perfunctory swipes as two more Arbiters broke through the line and rushed to hinder him.

However, now that options had unexpectedly opened up to him for actual progress in this cycle, he was suddenly more reluctant to throw away a potential resource, particularly if there were viable alternatives. Sephiroth gazed thoughtfully upward, swinging Masamune idly.

“Are you going to help at all?” Cloud demanded in exasperation as he fought for his life against the endless horde of Arbiters.

Sephiroth arched a brow at him. “Certainly; perhaps you’d care to trade?” He glanced at the base of the plate, an edge of frustration tinging his voice. “It would be a simple matter to merely fling it clear of the city ... but the deal was for sixty thousand lives, not fifty.”

“Sixty thousand lives is good!” yipped the young woman with the SMG, shooting Cloud a feverish look as she continued to fire. “Folks among those additional ten thousand just might be important to someone, _Cloud!_ ”

Sephiroth arched a brow at the interjection. He glanced at the two other people wearing red cloth tied around their heads; one was blasting away with a shotgun, the other had switched from a rifle to a heavy pistol.

“I have ... no idea who you people are.” He inclined his head. “Do try to be useful.”

“Oh yeah?” said the leaner one as he reloaded his pistol. “Well we have no idea who you are either!”

The woman with the SMG blanched. “Biggs! Did you grow up under a rock?”

“No, I grew up under a _plate_ , Princess,” he quipped dryly.

The sturdier one cleared his throat and murmured, “I actually ... watched ... the news ... a lot ... ” He trailed off, evidently concluding this was not the time or the place for people to really be interested.

 _Hmm ..._ Sephiroth pondered his problem. He needed an end point. Something stable. _What about ..._

Slowly, he began to tilt the plate. There was a tortured grind as one edge of the plate began to dip, the other continuing to float in the air as he began the gradual process of setting down his burden by leaning the plate. Dozens of calculations spun through his mind; if he tilted it slowly enough, people were likely to have time to get out of the way of anything that might fall on them as the plate shifted. _Let’s see ... The average human is able to walk up inclines of …_

More Arbiters surged in, forcing him to take his mind off his calculations more and more often as individuals slipped through and he was compelled to deal with them himself. This would not do. They were making no progress; the realm of Fate could simply disgorge more Arbiters as soon as one wave was dealt with. _Time to take the fight to its source._

He glanced down at the embattled defenders. _No, this will not do at all._ They were only human, after all, and had spent far more of the last 48 hours fighting – and far less of it resting – than the human body was reliably able to sustain. Hardly ideal conditions for their date with Destiny.

With an mental sigh, Sephiroth reached deep into his memory, calling forth knowledge he’d carefully harvested from a Restore materia. He’d had little use for it since his mortal life, but the frailty of humans seemed a complication inherent to any plan that made use of them... and it was a complication he had little time for now.

* * *

Tifa struggled to catch her breath between one wave and the next. Her muscles _burned._ Yet she struggled to square up once more; she had to keep _fighting_.

Suddenly, a warm tingling pulsed through her body, soothing her aches and leaving her with a euphoric rush of energy. She glanced around to find her friends standing straighter, breathing easier ... until she met Sephiroth's burning gaze. His lips curled humorlessly, his eyes flaring balefully before fading to their customary cold glow.

“It is only a matter of time until you are overwhelmed.” Sephiroth's voice sliced through the howl of the Arbiters. “You are fighting a war of attrition you cannot hope to win. Time to change the rules.”

He half-turned, rotating around the still upraised arm. A moment later, Masamune whipped out in a cut that seemed to carve apart the air itself. A dark, seething void spilled into the world, tearing the rent in reality wide open before coalescing into a frothing, rippling circle. Arbiters recoiled from it, shrieking, giving the defenders on the pillar a momentary, much needed breather.

Tifa found her voice. “What _is_ that?”

“A rift to the Singularity, a realm beyond time.” Sephiroth gestured at the Arbiters with his sword. “Do you wish to stop the future they so desire? To prevent what is destined, you must face Fate directly. The real battle,” he gestured at the tear, “starts in there.”

“I have _no_ idea what he’s goin’ on about,” Barret complained, pouring water over his gun barrels to cool them.

“I’ll explain later,” Tifa promised. “What I know of it.” She glanced at Sephiroth and her throat seized, but she pushed ruthlessly past the blockage of fear. “Will we be able to save all these people if we go through?”

“You will prevent my saving them from being unmade.”

Tifa hesitated, then nodded firmly. “Then we’ll have words later.” She grabbed Cloud’s hand. Barely registering his startled, “W-!” She dragged him forward and through the storming curtain of light.

* * *

As he watched the freedom fighter barreling towards the opening to the Singularity in an effort to catch up with the others, Sephiroth reflected on their situation.

They had been forced into this confrontation earlier than ever before. They had not even the Cetra girl this time around.

Sephiroth could not afford to take chances.

_Where is Number 49? Ah, there._

In his effort to rush Number 2 into position as quickly as possible – without allowing the appearance of haste – Number 49's progress up the pillar had been all but forgotten. He was now standing as just one black cloaked figure amid a horde of grey, dutifully drinking in observations with a morose stare.

 _I need eyes on the inside._ Eyes that took less ... _concentration_ to see through than Cloud’s.

Sephiroth extended another small coil of telekinetic power. He picked up Number 49 from the edge of the platform, turned, and tossed the body into the swirling rift.

* * *

They stepped ... onto the platform, exactly where they had entered. Cloud blinked. Then he looked again as he realized they were standing above a city on fire. Buckled plates and twisted wreckage stretched amid crushed cars and collapsed buildings, as far as the eye could see. Far above them yawned the empty sky, visible through the chilling gap where the Sector 7 plate should have been.

The heat of it blasted Cloud’s skin, but inside he felt cold.

_‘Man, I hope that’s like ... symbolic, and not actual wreckage. Sephiroth wouldn’t just drop the plate as soon as we were out of sight, would he? He’s gotta be too proud for a cheap shot like that, right?’_

_I hope so ... Look._

The platform and a small section of pillar hung suspended over this hellscape. The edges crackled with static, almost like a small oasis of reality was imposing itself forcefully on the landscape.

Tifa had moved to the edge of the pillar and was looking down. Her face was stricken and her fingers were wrapped around each other so tightly, he could hear the leather of her gloves creak.

As Barret came charging through the portal behind him, Cloud moved up to stand beside Tifa. “This how Fate thinks things should be,” he stated aloud. He glanced over at her. “It hasn’t happened yet.”

_‘You sure about that, buddy? We were JUST wondering –’_

_Shut up._

Tifa gave him a wavering smile. She nodded, expression firming.

_See? Sometimes I can say the right thing._

_‘All RIGHT! You got this!’_

Buoyed up by this bit of self-encouragement, he almost smiled despite the grim situation. Thankfully, he was distracted by a voice he hadn’t expected saying, “Oh, man ...” He turned to see Wedge, Biggs, and Jessie emerging through the portal.

“What are you doing here?”

Biggs gave a dry chuckle. “We haven’t died yet. That means we’re still fighting.”

“The-General-Sepiroth-sir said this is a land beyond time, right?” Wedge put in. He strung together all the words in the title like it was some form of complete concept. “A-and he said the real fight was in here.” He shook his head. “I don’t wanna be on the sidelines if there was anything at all I could do to help.”

Jessie didn’t say anything. She had gone to the edge of the platform and was looking down at the ruined street below them.

Biggs was looking around as well. “Hey Jessie ... isn’t that the street your parents live on?”

Jessie didn’t answer.

Cloud did a rapid calculation. If he adjusted the angles of his point of view, that would make that house over there ... _Oh._

“Do you ... want to try climbing down?” Cloud asked quietly.

“ _No._ ”

A groan caught their attention and Cloud abruptly realized there were _seven_ people on the rooftop, not six.

“ _Marco?_ ” Tifa asked in consternation. The martial artist ran over to the black cloaked figure where he stirred and moaned feebly. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“I dunno,” said Wedge. “He must have come in after us.”

“Yes, but _why?_ ”

“That’s where you’re drawin’ the line?” asked Barret. “After all the crazy shit you’ve seen today, _that’s_ the thing that makes you question?”

A shrieking howl split the skies, making them all cover their ears.

“See?” Barret demanded.

Above them, a maelstrom of blue and purple was gathering in the heavens. Arbiters were swirling into a single point of space like light being drawn into a black hole. Around the event horizon, violet lightning split the sky and thunder boomed as the gathered energy sought release.

Then some critical mass was reached. The point unfolded into a gigantic being, so giant it reared high above the wall surrounding Midgar, higher even than the tallest spire of Shinra tower, and eclipsed the distant moon. It seemed made from the roots of some primal world tree, the metallic bones of creation now forged, the sinews of reality, and the nerves sending static-filled impulses of inevitability, with the glowing heart of time in its chest.

_That’s no Arbiter. That’s an Avatar._

The impression of a head was marred with a gaping hole, as if it had already been dealt a grievous wound. However, one eye still glowed with a baleful amethyst light.

The gigantic being lifted an arm and a black hole formed between its claws. It swept its hand down through the city, the black hole tearing up chunks of concrete and gathering up debris into a corona. Then it reared back its arm and _threw._

The black hole flew above the section of pillar, but the debris cloud passed right through it. Cloud leaped forward, carving a chunk of concrete in two with his sword and batting another aside. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Tifa pulverizing another, while he heard the rapid fire of Barret’s weapon.

A shadow fell over him and he looked up. A giant fist was coming down to smash them into jelly.

_‘Oh shit -’_

Suddenly, the titanic arm hesitated, then withdrew. _What the ..._

He saw the fist tighten for a moment, then the clawed fingers flew open. From its palm were released three clouds of black smoke; they rushed down to impact on the pillar and rise up in small tornados, pulsing with unnatural light. From each emerged a vaguely humanoid figure, each not quite a ghost, but more like the whisper of a man. They had heads and arms and torsos, but instead of legs, their lower body faded away to a skirt that hovered several inches off the ground. They were made of the same material of the Avatar, but each had a different color glow and each had weapons fused into their lower arms.

Out of the first cyclone emerged a figure with a blueish glow, which squared up in a fighting stance with heavy weights at the end of its arms. Out of the second emerged a figure with a yellowish glow, which lifted lower arms in the shape of guns. Out of the final one emerged a figure with a reddish glow, which flourished its bladelike left arm.

Tifa and Barret moved up to stand beside Cloud. “Huh,” Barret muttered. “Sword, gun, fists – those supposed to be _us?_ ”

Marco, still lying in a heap on the platform, shook his head muzzily. “Reunion ...”

“What?” Barret demanded.

“Don’t mind him,” said Tifa. “He has like a three word vocabulary; don’t read too much into it.”

“If they’re us, they’re doing a poor job,” Cloud said as he leveled his sword at the trio of Whispers. “You only have a gun on one arm and I’m not left handed.”

“Guys ... Guys!” they heard Wedge call from behind them. “Hey, I’ve seen this movie! Don’t go for the mirror match!”

Both Cloud and Tifa shot him dirty looks. _‘Oh now he says something ...’_

“Right,” Cloud said, taking charge. “Tifa, you’re the fastest; close with Guns and lock him down. I’ll take Fists; big as he is, I’ve still got reach on him. Barret, you and the rest of Avalanche play keep-away with Swords.”

Barret pumped his gun arm with a grin. “Right!”

“Don’t let him catch you,” Cloud warned. “That sword will –”

“Merc, if there’s one thing you don’t need to explain to me, it’s how to survive in a fight.” The large man cut him off with a grin. “We got this.” He leveled the barrels of his gun at the red Whisper. “Hey asshole! You wanna piece of me?”

The Whispers exploded into action.

* * *

 _Force is mass times acceleration._ For a fighter like Tifa, a lot more force came from the latter. _Speed on its own isn’t enough; control and unpredictability are as necessary for striking as they are for evasion._

The howling void above, the chaos of combat, it all started to recede as _her_ world rose. Warmth and calm, a shelter in the eye of the storm. A world that always supported her.

Sometimes literally. She kicked off a wall that wasn’t there, rapidly changing direction as a barrage of gunfire raked across her previous path. The gunfire followed her as she closed rapidly until, as the bullets cut across her seeming trajectory, she leaped. _Turn._ She was at the perfect height to deliver a kick to the jaw, but she was already in the air. Her foot planted on a patch of nothing and she rotated around it, feeling the momentum surging up through her body. It built like a wave, starting from the point of bracing that channeled all the motion in one direction, gaining acceleration as her body pivoted, then unleashing with full force as her foot snapped out in a kick that sent the being’s head rocketing away from the point of impact.

 _“Where the head goes, the body follows,”_ her teacher, Zangan, had taught her. The rest of the creature’s body was yanked to the side. Arms flailing, it skidded several yards as its lack-of-legs failed to find any traction against the ground. That was fine; she had spoiled the creature’s aim – and that was the main thing Tifa cared about.

The creature backpedaled, frantically trying to point its guns at her. Tifa followed, slapping the gun barrels aside with a series of open-handed strikes. _“In close quarters, a blade is much more deadly to you than a gun,”_ Zangan had told her. _“A blade has only one safe point – and your opponent holds it. A gun, on the other hand, has only one dangerous point – its very tip. Do not let that tip be pointed towards you, under any circumstances.”_

Cloud, meanwhile, was putting the other half of the axiom to good use. The blue Whisper couldn’t block his sword directly without losing a limb and was forced to funnel more energy into dodging. Even parrying was proving difficult; the weights on the ends of its fists added power to every strike, but slowed its recovery enough to create openings. It only seemed to be making up the difference by virtue of a truly superhuman speed. Even then, the creature seemed like it had to dedicate more effort to survival than offense.

There was another burst of gunfire and she caught a glimpse of the rest of Avalanche playing keep-away with the red one. It had almost managed to catch up to Jessie when it was forced to recoil as a rifle round tore through the air in front of it. The distraction had allowed enough time for Biggs to set up and brace. The red Whisper rocketed towards him, blade deflecting the next pair of shots out of the air before it was abruptly knocked spinning; a single blade proved ineffective at neutralizing the force of a shotgun blast, no matter how speedily wielded.

Tifa bared her teeth in a grin. They were _winning._ She focused all her power into a single kick. Her inner world seized at it eagerly, helpfully, ramping up the acceleration even as it was still in flight. There would be no way she’d be able to check that momentum at the point of impact, so she let it carry her up, past it, bleeding off the excess velocity by turning it into a somersault.

The feeling of warmth and calm faded, but since it was accompanied by the yellow-glowing Whisper spinning over and over itself, flailing, and certainly unable to get a clean shot, Tifa considered this more than a fair trade.

Before she could follow up on her advantage, however, she heard a loud _clang!_

Cloud found himself floating in the air, gravity seeming to have temporarily lost its hold on him as he’d been knocked up and away from the platform. _Well ... here I am._

 _‘Ok, I know he’s fast, but you_ _**can not** _ _just take center-mass hits dead-on like that! Buster sword’s as much a shield as a weapon, but not when you over-commit on everything!’_

Cloud’s inner peanut-gallery was cut off by his impact with the ground. As he forced himself to sit up, a flash of instinct made him bring his sword up, one-handed. The blue-glowing Whisper checked its momentum, breaking off its rush rather than risk impaling itself.

Cloud hauled himself to his feet, grimacing as something creaked in his chest. Gradually, a sense of clarity bled into the world – he didn't hurt any less, but his limbs felt lighter, and the Whisper seemed to be moving closer to merely-human speeds.

_I know what I’m doing._

He did; he had the knowledge, the skill, and the power. The series of strikes were quick and precise as if he were doing them in the training ring. These sorts of techniques were easy, for a SOLDIER.

The blade cleaved apart the glowing blue Whisper. With a shriek, its body dissolved into sparks of light and shreds of time. As they splashed across Cloud’s face like a splatter of blood, he saw ...

_Cloud knelt in the mud and rain above a dying black-haired man. Blood ran down his face and the First Class soldier uniform was torn, riddled with bullet holes._

_“... For the ... both of us,” the man was saying._

_“_ _**Both** _ _of us?” Cloud asked._

_“That’s right ... you’re gonna ...”_

_For a second Cloud thought he wasn’t going to finish. “ ‘You’re gonna ...?’ ” he asked in the faint hope it would galvanize him to continue._

_It worked. The man with black hair reached up to grab Cloud behind the neck, a companionable gesture. Then the motion continued as he pulled Cloud’s head down to his chest._

_“... Live,” the man breathed. “You’ll be ... my living legacy.”_

_The hand slid away. When Cloud sat back, his face was bloody from the wounds on the man’s chest._

_The man’s other hand tightened around the hilt of the buster sword. “My honor ... my dreams ...” He lifted the buster sword, offering it to Cloud. “They’re yours now.”_

_As Cloud took the long hilt in both hands, the man’s hand released, then gave the sword a small shove, making the passing of the torch clear._

_Cloud held the hilt close to his chest. “I’m your ... living legacy.”_

_The black haired man smiled and closed his eyes._

_As the man’s breathing slowed, Cloud’s became faster. As the life ebbed, Cloud tilted back his head and screamed. Memories flashed before his eyes, vivid – too vivid. Then it wasn’t just memories – too much – adding, overwriting – too much ..._

_‘Embrace your dreams.’ The one clear thought in a cacophonous ocean. ‘If you wanna be a hero, you need to have dreams.’_

_Dreams ... embrace ... yes ... He reached out to the chaos of dreams-becoming-reality._

_“Thank you,” Cloud said aloud, even as the storm threatened to engulf his mind. “I won’t forget.” He stood, still clutching the buster sword, though he felt a whirlpool opening up beneath his feet. “Goodnight ...” he whispered as he started to turn away. Even as the dark-haired man left his sight, he could feel the memory of him going under, sucked into the depths by the storm._

_“... Zack.”_

Cloud stood shocked into immobility as the vision cleared.

_... What?_

_‘WHAT?’_

_Hang on ..._

_‘Huh?’_

_You haven’t been talking in my voice._

“Jessie!” Barret bellowed.

The red-glowing Whisper had been prevented from going after Wedge by a hail of fire that forced it to either dodge away or be chewed apart by Barret’s minigun. Now it was closing on the man himself.

“Jessie! _Jessie!_ ”

Jessie, slowed by her sprained ankle and the painkillers that allowed her to stand, was out of position.

Triumphant, the crimson Whisper raised its blade-arm to strike. Wedge cried out in dismay, only to choke on the sound as Barret responded by bringing up his gun-arm and blocking at the base of the blade. The edge scarred the metal, jittering across it and leaving a mess of scratches in its wake, but the blade was less sharp down by its lower third – and the strike had less momentum closer to the body.

Barret looked the Whisper in its glowing approximation of eyes – and grinned. “Time for a physics lesson, asshole.”

 _Force equals mass times acceleration. Maybe I ain’t a SOLDIER, but I got a_ _**lot** _ _of mass._

Barret’s perfectly normal hand curled into a fist, then he put all his muscle and fury into a punch that sent the bladed creature shooting away from him, to rebound off the railing on the side of the platform.

Before it could recover, Barret shredded it with a hail of bullets.

Moments spilled from it, catching everybody nearby. Barret saw –

_Meteor. Enormous and deadly. A giant ball of rock and flame, about to smash into their world and crack it asunder. All his work to stop Shinra, all he had sacrificed to protect the planet – none of it would matter. Apocalypse had come._

Wedge reeled. He saw –

_There had been no grapple gun._

_He fell, screaming, from the platform to land with a horrifying crunch. He had lasted just long enough to speak a few last words to Cloud and Tifa, before blood filled his lungs and he saw ..._

_Nothing._

Biggs recoiled. He saw –

_He hadn’t had time to set up. He hadn’t had time to grab the rifle._

_Shinra troops caught him on the stairs, even as he’d fought to clear a way to the top. Chest full of bullets, he felt himself slipping into shock, even as he struggled to speak. Then he saw ..._

_Nothing._

Jessie’s breath sucked in. She saw –

_Barret hadn’t been there to pull her out of the way._

_They were spread out, all rushing to get to the top of the pillar before the helicopters. She was several flights below Barret when she pulled the pin on a grenade and launched it into the face of a chopper. In its death throes, it careened into the pillar and she was trapped, crushed beneath twisted wreckage. She lasted just long enough to die in Cloud’s arms before ..._

_Nothing._

Time to end this. Tifa readied herself, then launched herself into a flurry of attacks, acceleration ramping up with each blow. With the uncaring, ruthless physics of this world yielding bit by bit to her resolve, she kicked off of open air to land behind the glowing yellow Whisper and seize its neck in a rear-naked choke-hold.

The creature flailed at her, unable to bend its arms far enough to get a bead on her with its weapon barrels. With its weapons fused to its forearms, it lacked wrists it could bend for just the few degrees of extra flexibility it needed. It beat at her ineffectually with the sides of its gun-barrels, but its angle was poor and it had no leverage. Tifa just kept her head down and weathered the storm.

 _This is taking longer than it should,_ she realized, even as she struggled to increase the pressure.

Of course. Whatever this creature was made of, it wasn’t human. She could _see_ holes in its chest leading to its glowing heart; it _definitely_ didn’t have blood flow to cut off – nor lungs in need of air. A choke _wouldn’t_ work.

Her grip tightened – not deliberately, but out of a frozen moment of panic. _It’s not human,_ she reminded herself. _It’s not human. Even if it was, it’s trying to kill people you care about. You can do this._

Her grip shifted. Then, she gave a violent _wrench_. She gritted her teeth, briefly squeezing her eyes shut in a nonsensical attempt to block out the ugly cracking sound.

The creature dissolved under her. Right next to it, Tifa was blasted full on with a cascade of visions of –

_Aerith. Half a dozen scattered images. Slim hands clasped in prayer. A globe of Materia, pure white, bouncing off the stones as it fell. Cloud standing waist deep in a lake, Aerith’s limp corpse in his arms._

Tifa’s breath drew in. _No._

A groan like the timbers of the world creaking in the wind. The giant was moving, staggering as if in pain. It bought up its giant fist again, but once again hesitated before bringing it crashing down. _Why doesn’t it just crush us?_

 _“Well ...”_ she heard Aerith’s voice saying lightly, _“you might be a_ _ **little**_ _important ...”_

Maybe Fate couldn’t risk any action that would wipe them out of existence. Maybe, even if it had the instinct to do that with _some_ of them, it couldn’t manage strikes _precise_ enough to avoid the ones it needed to keep alive. _Maybe that’s why it needs agents: to do the job of beating us into submission for it._

A massive, clawed hand stretched out. Black smoke formed, then the glowing Whisper trio were reconstituted again.

“What? It can just do that?” Barret demanded. “This is ridiculous!”

“I am inclined to agree.”

Tifa’s heart chilled at the voice. She turned to see Marco rising, black mist spiraling around his body. As he straightened, he grew noticeably taller, even as the skeletal limbs filled out. The hood fell away from a flash of green eyes as silver hair dropped down his back. In a moment, Marco had transformed into a perfect duplicate of the man who’d ushered them into the realm of fate, right down to the incongruous white flower tucked into his harness.

_Sephiroth._

Masamune constructed itself, inch by inch, the span of steel forming before her eyes.

_“Sephiroth ... SOLDIERs ... Mako ... Shinra ... I’m sick of this! I’m sick of all of this!”_

That was no leftover vision from the Whisper’s death. That was a good, old fashioned, trauma flashback.

It took her a moment to realize the nightmarish shrieking wasn’t in her own mind. The trio of whispers had gone _insane._

They scrambled over each other to get out of his way as the silver-haired being moved past them. The red one reached out its one humanoid arm after him, seeming half fearful, half pleading. Sephiroth didn’t look at them.

“Are you so desperately afraid of being forgotten that you would bind yourself to this empty fate?” His voice dripped with scorn. “How disappointing.” His eyes were on the Avatar of Fate as he stepped off the edge of the pillar.

 _Him,_ the Avatar had no hesitation in attacking. As soon as he was clear of the others, a massive fist hurtled towards him. Sephiroth reached out and halted the titanic appendage with an open palm. “No.” He shoved and the Avatar lurched back, spreading its arms wide before hauling off for another swing.

“Wait, hold up!” Barret cried. “Could you do that the _entire time?_ What, did you stop for a drink at Seventh Heaven?”

“Because you’d better have paid your tab!” Wedge backed him up, nodding firmly.

That at least snapped Tifa out of her paralysis. “Wedge!”

“What?” He blinked at her. “You need to make a living; it’s only polite.”

“I had hoped to avoid becoming involved.” One green, serpent eye gleamed over Sephiroth’s shoulder. “Attend to these echos of a forsaken timeline. I shall deal with Fate.”

He shot off, arcing under the second, sweeping blow before arrowing towards the towering apparition.

The trio of Whispers had rushed to the center of the platform. They began to circle, spinning around a central point in a tighter and tighter spiral. Then they met in an explosion of static lightning and violet haze. Blue wings unfurled. Yellow limbs snapped out glowing talons. The crimson head of a dragon viewed them all with a malevolent eye, before its fanged jaws opened in a roar.

“Oh, _I_ see how it is,” Barret cried, throwing up an arm. “Glowing giants and goddamn sword-ghosts just made too much _sense_ , so now we get to fight a fuckin’ _dragon!”_

Jessie fitted a new clip into her SMG. “Well,” she sighed. She tossed Biggs and Wedge a grin. “My one and only starring role _was_ the Princess. Seems fitting I have to deal with a dragon myself for a change.”

“Maybe for you ...” Wedge said uneasily as he looked up and up at the creature. “Fighting a dragon was never something _I_ wanted to do.”

“Oh!” Jessie turned and, with a flippant gesture, straightened her fingers into a knife-hand and tapped Wedge perfunctorily on the top of the head and both soldiers. “There! I dub thee Sir Wedge. Now you _have_ to do it.”

Biggs laughed and clapped Wedge on one pauldron. “Congratulations on the promotion. Guess you’ll need a full suit of armor now.”

Wedge’s eyes had taken on an odd light. “I’m ... a knight?” His grin grew wider and wider. “I’m a knight!”

Before anyone could stop him, he gave an ecstatic whoop and charged the glowing dragon. It seemed almost as surprised as everyone else. Yellow claws slashed downward, but Wedge dove, skidding beneath it, and fired his shotgun up into its downward turning snout. The dragon recoiled with a roar and Wedge scrambled backwards, out of reach.

“Well,” said Biggs after a moment. “I think that went a lot better than anyone was expecting.

Sephiroth danced lazily around the Avatar of Fate, effortlessly evading the swings of massive limbs and ripples of distorted causality alike. He cut at it as he went, carving little slivers of history for it to bleed away into.

Oh, he had its attention; there had never been any doubt of that. Not only was he the greatest threat on the field, but he was something that extended beyond Fate's ken, an outside element that confounded and infuriated it beyond all restraint. He felt a smirk twist his lips as he basked in its thwarted rage.

As he drifted behind it, the Avatar ... reversed. The back of its head became its face, its limb joints, nebulous as they’d been, inverted, and he realized as a coruscating beam of octarine light engulfed him that the Avatar had begun the attack even before it had moved.

_... Mother, let’s take the Planet back together. Let’s go to the Promised Land._

Her SMG was doing _nothing._ As Biggs kited the dragon in circles, pinging pistol shots off its skull to keep its attention, Jessie rifled through her pouches for one of her last two explosive devices. The pipe bomb wouldn’t work; it’d been a rush job and its aerodynamics were so poor, she’d need to be right on top of it in order to stick the shot.

The dragon gave a roar as a flurry of strikes from the buster sword cut glowing streaks into the latticework of its hide. It abandoned its pursuit of Biggs as an irrelevant distraction, whipping around to focus on Cloud as Jessie’s hand closed on a lighter. A deeper glow began to grow in the beast’s chest and its jaws opened. A shotgun blast to the side of skull knocked the creature’s head to the side and the torrent of umbral flame went wide. As it rounded on Wedge now, Cloud leaped in again. However, this time, its tail came up, smacking him hard to the ground.

The dragon roared at Wedge, who looked absolutely terrified, but responded with a shouted, “AAAAAAAA!” of his own. The dragon balked when a rifle round zipped through its wing, then turned with a keening bellow of rage.

“Shit,” Biggs muttered, aiming again. With the dragon not focused on him, he had switched back to the heavier gun – except now it _was_ focused on him again. Biggs got out another shot as the dragon charged, then with one swipe of a giant paw, it grabbed him around the waist. As he struggled, arms trapped at his side, the dragon brought him close to its mouth, glow building up in its chest once more, seeming determined not to miss again.

 _Shit!_ Jessie lit the molotov coctail and _threw_. The bottle smashed across the creature’s back and it dropped Biggs with a scream as flames spread across its hide.

“ _Holy_ shit ...” Biggs gasped, scrambling away.

“ _Jessie!_ ” she heard Barret bark. “Did you just molotov cocktail a _dragon?_ ”

Jessie gave a shrug and a flippant grin. The painkillers were starting to wear off and the slow return of pain was making her light-headed. “Honestly, this turned out better than I expected!”

The dragon, now on fire but not otherwise noticeable impaired, gave a shrieking roar.

“Oh Goddess. Cloud, Cloud, _Cloud_ , Cloud, CLOUD! This is up to you now!” Jessie scrambled to get out of the way.

“When it’s on fire, it’s _my_ problem?” Cloud muttered, charging into her wake and angling the buster sword to deflect the beast's descending claws. Talons met steel with a squeal of metal and a shower of sparks, but the mercenary's guard held.

Tifa looked down at her bare fists, then up at the dragon wreathed in flames, then threw up her hands. “Well, I’m out.”

The rifle barked again. Biggs, on one knee, shot her a grin. “It’s okay. Sometimes you need metaphorical guns, sometimes you need _actual_ guns.”

This was a disaster, Jessie thought, desperately rooting through her pack once more. Reloads, gaff tape, multi-tool, combat knife – like _that_ was going to be useful against a dragon. She had _nothing_ that wasn’t useless or wouldn’t make things worse.

 _Well, what did you expect?_ The part of her mind she tried to cover with a veneer of self-assurance and cheek mocked her ruthlessly. _When was the last time you accomplished something that_ _ **didn’t**_ _make things worse? Your father wouldn’t have been tired enough to collapse in the Mako reactor if he wasn’t trying to work extra hours to get time off to see your show. Shinra wouldn’t have been on high alert in Mako Reactor 5 if you hadn’t insisted on a raid to get better explosives the night before. And you wouldn’t be here – none of you – if not for your explosives. If the bombing of Mako Reactor 1 hadn’t been so devastating, do you really think Shinra would have been so hell bent to stamp you out? Do you think they would have decided to drop the plate?_

 _You’re not even supposed to be_ _**alive** _ _– and maybe your friends would be better for it._

Jessie’s hand closed around the pipe bomb.

The dragon backwinged upward, then shot forward in a spinning barrel-roll, bowling over Cloud and Tifa. The flames across its back went out as Jessie began quickly gaff-tapping the pipe bomb to the knife. The dragon reared upright and, this time, balls of fire appeared between its claws. No longer trying for a breath attack, it began flinging the balls of fire like Jessie had thrown her molotov, chasing the others around the platform with a barrage of fiery explosions.

 _Now._ Jessie took off running. The dragon’s eyes weren’t on her, as it pulled back an arm to lob a ball of fire at a fleeing Barret. Jessie launched herself into a flying leap, her twisted ankle screaming as she pushed off it. She grabbed onto the creature’s back and stabbed down with the knife, lodging the armed pipe bomb between the beating wings. She leaped clear, intending to be well away from the monster before the timer ran out.

Her weakened ankle buckled.

With an agonized cry, she went down – then screamed as the dragon’s paw slammed down on her breastplate. It lifted its foot up and smashed it down again, grinding her beneath its foot like someone would smear an obnoxious cockroach into nothingness. Metal shrieked as it crumpled, but far worse than any of it was when she felt more than heard a sickening _crack_. Violent red whirlpools consumed her vision, threatening to drag her under.

She missed what happened next, but suddenly the crushing weight was off of her. She felt a hand at the collar of her backplate, dragging her away. “I got you,” she heard Wedge’s voice saying distantly. “You’ll be alright!”

 _No, Wedge!_ If the bomb caught him ... But “D –” was all she managed before the effort of trying to speak became too excruciating.

Dimly, she could see the dragon whipping around, frantically trying to reach behind its back with its stubby clawed arms. At the last moment, it seemed to realize it had a flexible neck. It craned its neck backwards – and the pipe bomb exploded. The dragon was torn apart in a shower of light and time so powerful that surely even the Avatar had to feel it.

Jessie felt herself being set down. Wedge’s face swam into view above her. “Come on, Jessie ... You – you have to be alright! See ...? I saved you! The knight always saves the princess ... That’s how it goes, right?”

Jessie gave a wheeze that was as close as she could manage to a laugh. The whirlpools were starting to take up more and more of what she could see. She could just make out dark shapes, voices growing ever more distant.

“Her breastplate’s completely stove in!”

“Help me get it off of her.”

“ _Don’t!_ It might be the only thing holding her ribs together.”

“If something pierces her lungs ...”

“Jessie! _Jessie!_ Stay with us, here ...”

 _But it_ _ **hurts**_ _so much ..._ she thought muzzily, before the red whirlpools ate her world.

_... I have been chosen to be the leader of this Planet._

Sephiroth crushed the errant thoughts with a snarl of disdain. The Avatar had attacked his sense of self directly, had tried to drag him in line with its vapid mummery. Absurd.

His _self_ ran deeper than the North Crater, and thicker than raw Lifestream. After so many cycles, trillions of harvested lives, all condensed within him, purified as part of him. Trillions of independent anchors for his identity, and _that_ was where it had struck? Absurd; it had barely scratched the surface.

Still. It _had_ scratched the surface. This was no longer amusing. _With everything I am, I defy you._ _I will never be_ _ **your**_ _memory._

He swung Masamune, and in its wake, a tiny slice of infinity not only parted the Avatar's arm from its body, but severed the conceptual connection between limb and torso. It had no left arm. It _would_ have no left arm. Another swing, and an expanding plane of possibility unraveled its right arm. He let out a grim chuckle, exulting, even as he felt the exercise of power strain at the limits of his vessel, in the dismantling of this entity who would see him humbled, who would deprive him of the triumph that was his right.

He glided again before its face, drifting close enough to send it reeling with a casual backhand. “I hope you have the sapience to understand me. To understand what is happening, right now. To see the unraveling of the path you so cherish.” A sweeping diagonal cut set the Avatar's head and a single shoulder adrift in a bubble of captive causality while the rest of its body collapsed into the swirling void all around them.

“You are irrelevant.” With a moment of effort, he collapsed the bubble. Fate had no place in _his_ world.

High above the pillar, the titanic form of the Avatar of Fate writhed in its death throes. Strands of time and causality bled away from as it fell and, even as it died, thin filaments reached out with a final vision.

Even as he was struggling to keep Jessie alive, Barret staggered. For an instant, he saw –

_Marlene._

_The little girl pushed open the shutters to reveal a sky as red as blood. Meteor hung in the sky above Midgar, terrifyingly close. Lightning laced the sky, cyclones tore through the buildings as the giant ball of rock and fire neared its devastating conclusion._

_Marlene was too close; MUCH too close. The little girl stared upward as a wave of white light tried to form a shield above the city ... and Meteor pushed right through._

Tifa’s eyes widened.

_Cloud._

_Cloud, his face despairing, falling into an open wound to the naked Lifestream. A body, encased in clear, rock-like a mass of Materia, tumbled with him. The body had pale skin and silver hair ..._

Cloud clutched at his head.

_Sephiroth._

_He and Sephiroth lunged for each other. The clashing of blades filled the air as they moved with superhuman speed, exchanging a flurry of blows in a pitched battle that, surely, only one of them could survive._

The visions cleared.

All the visions.

They were no longer on the pillar. Instead, they all stood gathered around in a small playground on the border between Sectors 7 and 6. High above them, the Sector 7 plate loomed nearly as titanic as the Avatar, now at rest, leaning at a stable angle.

Sephiroth’s boots touched the sand as he finished floating to the ground. With Avalanche still grouped around Jessie and Cloud and Tifa still staggered by their visions, none was ready to accost him.

“Hm,” he said thoughtfully, his head tilting to one side and eyes distant. “This body is nearly used up. It would be a shame if it were to die. It requires rest and care.” His gaze seemed to sharpen. “Curious. What instinct it possesses ...” he turned to look directly at Tifa, “trusts _you_ completely.” His inhuman eyes were unreadable. “Interesting.”

A moment later, the form of Sephiroth evaporated into black mists. The body named Marco wavered, then sank to its knees with a moan.

Barret looked at Marco, looked up at the plate, looked around, then looked at the barely breathing Jessie. “Alright, I think it’s _high time_ I got some answers – and right now, I got just one question I care about. _Where the_ _HELL is my little girl?_ ”

* * *

_Shinra HQ, Floor B3  
_ _General Affairs: Auditing Office_

“I called it! _I called it!_ ” Reno was screaming. “‘Reno’s just spinning crazy theories,’ you said. ‘Reno’s just drunk on the job again,’ you said. Well _what did that have to do with it?_ ”

Tseng sat frozen in his chair. He knew he should be doing _something_. Reno was bouncing off the walls like a manic fox, aggravating his injuries by the minute. Rude was just sitting there, staring at a message on his phone. The only words he’d uttered had been a whisper that alarmed Tseng deeply: “Just don’t ask daddy what he did at work today.”

He should be making sure Reno got medical attention. He should be looking after the psychological well-being of his team. He should be making sure _none_ of them did anything stupid.

But he _couldn’t._

What Tseng had witnessed had been _impossible._ Just _impossible_.

To make matters worse ... he’d _read_ the classified files. He knew _everything_ Shinra scientists had recorded about Sephiroth’s capabilities. _Everything they recorded ..._

It had to be a trick, some ... slight of hand with technology. Smoke and mirrors. _Did that chthonic voice feel like smoke and mirrors to you?_

He had to be going mad. It was the most logical explanation. Yet _thousands_ had witnessed the dropping plate _defy physics._

There was no technology that could do that. Even Shinra, who’d made the city in the sky, with the most advanced R&D wing on the planet, was nowhere near capable of producing such a feat. To believe that someone – anyone – had managed that great a technological leap without them knowing about it, in spite of all the resources they had put into keeping an eye on other powers, was even more impossible than believing in ...

 _Oh, Tseng ... You only thought you were devout, but you didn’t actually_ _**believe** _ _, did you?_

Tseng’s gloved fingertips brushed over the red dot on his forehead. At what point did believing in the supernatural become the logical explanation?

Right now, Tseng knew there were frantic meetings going on upstairs. How could they explain this; how could they spin this? How _could_ you spin something you had never even _conceived_ of as a _possibility_ before today? When you still had no idea how it had happened? When you still knew _nothing_ about the motivations of the being who had done it – or had any clue what he would do next.

Tseng was a man of reason. He’d keep his mind open ... even to the possibilities no one liked to contemplate. That was, in fact, his job.

There was one thing he _knew_. Given what he had seen, whatever the explanation – technology, alien wizardry, or an ascension beyond the mortal limits of mankind – the bedrock of the world was about to shift.

All people like him could do was avoid being crushed.

* * *

_Shinra HQ, Floor 63  
_ _Urban Planning Administration_

There would be no sleep tonight.

At first, Reeve thought he’d be incapable of sleep. Now, he had too much to do.

They’d forbidden him from _stopping_ the platefall plan. But they’d said nothing about relief efforts _afterwards._ In fact, he had the perfect excuse – wasn’t Shinra stepping up heroically in the wake of the disaster _just_ the sort of optics they wanted? The fact that there were many, MANY more living people in need of rescue than they’d anticipated wasn’t _his_ fault. _He_ was just doing his job as the head of Urban Development.

With the rest of Shinra’s leadership in a panic, running around like beheaded chocobos, he was left for a critical window of time without any oversight.

Between phone calls, during the downtime where he was waiting to hear back from underlings as his orders proliferated outwards, he dug into a box in his study. It was a pet project – _heh_ – intended for search-and-rescue in urban environments. This seemed _exactly_ the sort of situation it was made for.

He took out the small robot and placed it on his desk. Small, for squirming into areas where trapped people might be located. A fuzzy coat, for minor extra protection of the electronics and maximum calming of frightened people. Built in a form already suited for leaping, climbing, and wriggling into tight spaces. And, of course – he grinned – with a tiny cape and crown. Because what were cats but the lords of everything?

He flipped the physical switch and sent a command via his neural implant. “Cait Sith. Wake up.”

The cat stirred and gave a long, luxuriant stretch. “Ach! Ye better not have taken me out of a nice, cozy box and woken me up for more bloody tests!”

Reeve grinned. “Only in a manner of speaking,” he said as he scritched the robot behind the ears. “It’s time to test our partnership in the field.”

* * *

_Pagoda of the Five Gods, Wutai_

Godo Kisaragi sat staring off into space with a stricken expression, a data-pad with a paused video hanging slack in his hands.

“The demon ...” he muttered aloud in his daze. “The demon has returned ...”

“Old man?” Then, more quietly, “... Daddy?”

The voice was distant, irrelevant. _Nothing_ was as important as the singular thought coursing through his mind – and the horrifying revelation that came with it.

“The demon has returned ... and all this time ... _he was holding back._ ”

Yuffie Kisaragi quietly closed the door of her father’s study behind her, muffling the sounds of babbling.

Their country’s greatest enemy had returned. Someone had to _do_ something.

With her father suffering a nervous breakdown at the news, it was clear he was going to be no help. _It’s time for you to grow up, Yuffie. Your country needs you._

 _She_ would do something.

* * *

_Shinra HQ, Floor 66  
_ _Hojo’s Laboratory_

Aerith’s pace was as slow as the guards at her elbow would allow. It wasn’t just resistance; fatigue was catching up to her. How long since she’d slept? What time was it?

She didn’t know anything; no one was telling her _anything._ What happened to Sector 7? How many had died? Had her friends managed to get out? What was Sephiroth doing? Was destiny still on course – or was she on her own?

Spinning out the possibilities drove her like a scourge towards the brink of exhaustion. She _had_ to stop; she _couldn’t_ stop. She needed every scrap of energy she could scrabble together; she had just been through a nightmare – and she was entering hell. But no matter how much she _needed_ not to contemplate everything happening, her mind couldn’t avoid lingering on one inevitable conclusion.

She’d _lost._

She’d tried, _so_ hard. And she’d lost. Had she even done all she could?

 _You could have done things differently. You knew that. You’ve always known that._ _You made the play you thought best at every moment – and now come the consequences of the choices you made._ Her lip quirked up sadly. _That’s the thing about free will. Every decision is your own ... and there’s nothing ensuring it will all work out okay._

_Every person who dies, you have to live with now._

Her head bowed and her feet dragged. Around her, she passed tanks filled with other “specimens.” Some howling, some beating at the transparent walls, some curled in postures of mute defeat. The air stank with chemicals. This was not a place for “guests.”

They had taken her phone, her wallet, her staff, everything in her pockets. She could only assume it was only panic over the events going on outside, or the influence of Tseng, that had kept everyone too distracted for a full frisk. Otherwise, she couldn’t imagine why they hadn’t taken her boots as well, or her bracelets, or searched her enough to find the white Materia hidden in her bow.

She lifted her head and stumbled to a stop. Her breath drew in and she clasped her hands, lifting them to her face in a moment of prayer. Ahead of her was the specimen tank, its door standing open.

_“When you’re lucky, it’s a few days. Sometimes, it’s a week. Once, it was a month.”_

_Goddess, please no ... Please ..._

A guard’s hand touched her elbow. She couldn’t tell whether it was warning or an attempt at comfort. She was going into that tank no matter what either of them wanted. She could do it on her own two feet, or eventually she’d be thrown inside. She took the next step herself.

As she ascended the ramp, her breath caught as the floor of the tank came into view. _How?_

There, in the exact center of the enclosure, lay a message and a promise.

A single black feather.

_End Movement One_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with us through the First Movement!
> 
> Don't worry; the story is far from over and more chapters will be posted soon. These are Movements, not Seasons; we don't currently have plans to take a break for several weeks, or anything like that. The main purpose in dividing them this way to signal the end of one narrative arc and the beginning of a new one, like the tonal shifts in a musical suite.
> 
> The buildup to Platefall is over and the forces of Fate are dealt with. Stay tuned for what happens next!


	15. Tritone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Tritone is a chord where the intervals are exactly three whole steps apart. The result is so unsettling and WRONG sounding to the human ear, it was sometimes called “diabolus in musica” – the devil in music – or, more simply: The Devil’s Interval.
> 
> Content Warning: A significant portion of this chapter is set in Hojo’s lab or involves Hojo directly. This is not a fun, tongue-in-cheek look at him like in “Hojo’s Science Corner”; he's on the clock. Emotional abuse, gaslighting, and dehumanization follow. This is possibly the darkest chapter we will write. Do not go into it unprepared.

Aerith’s hair was wet from the disinfecting shower. A slight breeze stirred at her skirts, slowly drying them. Everything was controlled for in her enclosed glass prison, even the air. It was kept constantly circulating, vents in the ceiling pumping in fresh oxygen and removing carbon-dioxide buildup.

Everything seemed to come from the ceiling. Their was an airlock in the top of her enclosure, through which they dropped food and little packets of water. _Why risk opening the doors to feed the specimens?_ The ceiling also dispensed the regular disinfecting shower, to remove any pesky foreign contaminants – and take care of certain issues of ... sanitation. The runoff was washed away through slits in the floor. It was all streamlined with obscene efficiency. Everything was in place to keep a specimen alive and in place – forever.

Aerith desperately wanted to unbraid her hair to let it dry. But she couldn’t; if she undid her ribbon, they might notice the white materia hiding in the bow. There were eyes on her every minute.

 _How long have I been here?_ If she remembered correctly, the default shower cycle was set to once a day. There were options to set it longer or shorter, of course – if the specimen proved particularly messy or if the disinfectant began to irritate its skin. She had certainly needed such a shower when she’d arrived. She was a far cry from the beauty in the red dress she had managed to become in Wall Market. That had been before she’d gone tromping around in the sewers, before she’d become covered in ash, dust, and soot, before she developed the stink of exertion and terror.

Yet, she hadn’t been doused by another shower since. That must mean it was still the first night. Day?

Aerith had lost all sense of time. Time had become a nightmarish, stretched thing, where minutes became elastic and hours encompassed small eternities. _Did I really just meet Cloud ... yesterday?_ Had it been just yesterday? She could barely think.

She was reeling from exhaustion. She needed to sleep. _Couldn’t_ sleep. Not here. _Not here._

This place was a horror. There was nothing natural here. Everything was scrubbed and sanitized to death – before it was dissected and drained of what little soul it still possessed. The touch of the Goddess was wholly scoured away, excised as completely as the lobotomy on human empathy they had managed to achieve here.

The only thing she felt was the music.

A warning. Music so jarringly different from any other piece she’d heard in the symphony that had been her entire life. As natural as an electric keyboard, as viscerally horrifying as a xylophone made of her people’s bones. The notes crawled across her skin, falling in staccato drips like acid rain, that nonetheless seemed to echo in the empty room. _Goddess. It’s right below me._

Calamity. The world ender.

Jenova.

 _Oh, Sephiroth. I’m sorry._ He had only been Calamity’s Child. Now, sitting directly above the Calamity itself made her fully comprehend how human he was in comparison. He was a mutt, a mix-blood ... like her. _We have more in common than I thought._ Her Cetra half was repelled by his Jenova half, but for once she thought her human half had been wiser. _You saw the human in him when I couldn’t on any conscious level._

She couldn’t think about the context where it had happened. Not here. Nothing was more antithetical to sensual thought than here.

_Goddess, let me sleep. Please._

She couldn’t. Her waking hours were full of nightmares; what would her dreams be like? She couldn’t sleep. Not here.

_What is happening outside? Please, someone, tell me something._

No one was coming for a social visit. She wasn’t a guest, wasn’t even a prisoner. She was a specimen. Specimens weren’t engaged in conversation. To do that would be to humanize them, which might start building a bridge of empathy. They couldn’t have that. No, they had to avoid that above everything else. _You don’t name an animal you’re planning to slaughter. You don’t allow someone you’re planning to torture the label of “person.”_

In absence of data, her mind spun in hundreds of horrific scenarios, some stretching into gruesome waking dreams, made even worse by the crawling music. _How many are dead?_ _ **Who**_ _is dead? Please, I can’t worry about other people AND myself. Not now ..._

She felt drained, stretched, wound so tight she was close to breaking. How could she be so tired and yet shot with so much adrenaline? She felt like a machine over-clocked for too long, kept so hot it was melting, its gears slowly grinding each other to dust. She couldn’t, she just _couldn’t_ any more ...

_Couldn’t what?_

Anything.

 _WHAM!_ She was shocked abruptly awake as something slammed against her cheek like a blow. It was the floor.

She struggled to sit up once more, but the world spun slowly around her, dizzying and growing increasingly detached from her senses. Maybe ... maybe she would just stay on the floor for a while. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Aerith let her eyes flutter shut and surrendered to abusive mercies of sleep.

* * *

“Marlene!” Barret burst through the door of the little cottage, startling the straw-haired woman sitting at the table. “Is Marlene here?” he demanded, voice jagged with intensity born of fear. “She’s about this tall, sweetest smile. She ... wouldn’t look much like –”

Elmyra interrupted him before he could go further. “You must be her father.”

Barret paused. “Thank you for assuming that.”

“A parent knows.” Elmyra gave a small lift of her chin in the right direction. “She’s asleep upstairs.”

There was a loud clomping of boots as Barret promptly disappeared from sight.

Cloud carefully lowered his burden to the ground. He’d been able to put the pieces together; if Aerith had managed to find Marlene, then was captured by Shinra, it made sense she would either be at Aerith’s house or at Shinra HQ – and the former was a lot easier to check. With two injured bodies to haul around, they’d cut free a couple of ladders from the playground equipment, creating makeshift stretchers for Jessie and Marco.

Cloud hadn’t wanted _anything_ to do with Marco. Tifa, however, in the end simply _couldn’t_ abandon the feeble figure she’d taken care of for so long. So, Cloud had ended up carrying Jessie's stretcher with Biggs, while Tifa and Wedge had carried Marco’s. Barret, unable to keep a stretcher level with one good arm, had to content himself with following along behind Jessie’s stretcher, since Cloud was the only one who knew where he was going. He’d fretted the entire time.

“Mrs. Gainsborough,” Cloud murmured awkwardly to Aerith’s mother.

He was saved from having to find the words to explain their sudden invasion; just then, Elmyra spotted the barely breathing Jessie and her crumpled breastplate. “ _Goddess_. Quickly, get her upstairs; we’ll put her in my room.”

She grabbed what looked like a medical kit from the downstairs bathroom while Cloud and Biggs were maneuvering the stretcher up the stairs and hurried after them. “You were right to bring her here,” she told them as the two men worked to move Jessie from the stretcher and Tifa hovered anxiously in the background.

“I am _so_ sorry to impose on you,” Tifa said to Elmyra, while Biggs was muttering, “Lift on three. One, two, _three._ ”

Elmyra shook her head. “We’re in the aftermath of a catastrophe; we all need to do our part.” She began swiftly unbuckling the pieces of armor. “You,” she said, pointing at Tifa. “Help me with this; she needs to be held up. We need to tape her ribs. Her shirt needs to come off for that, so you two,” she pointed at Cloud and Biggs, then jerked her thumb towards the door, “out.”

“Huh?” Biggs looked caught off guard.

“Come on.” Cloud took him firmly by the arm and steered him out of the room.

They met Barret in the hall, the doorknob to Aerith's room tiny under his hand. “Marlene’s gone back to sleep,” he whispered. He gave the two of them a steely glance. “So walk _softly._ ”

“You’re the one with the biggest feet,” Cloud pointed out.

Barret’s eyes narrowed and he made a growling sound, but swallowed his retort with a glance at the door.

Wedge was just finishing getting Marco settled on the couch when the three of them made it downstairs.

“I don’t get it,” said Biggs, frowning. He jerked a thumb at Cloud, then shifted it to point at Barret. “You’re a couple of big-shots with access to Materia, right? So ...” The thumb jerked in the direction of the stairs. “Why is Jessie getting her ribs taped when you can just ... fix it?”

There was a creak as Barret settled into one of the kitchen chairs. He crossed his legs at the ankles and rested the elbow of the arm with the gun against the back of the chair. “What’s the worst you’ve ever been hurt, son?”

“Well, I broke my arm once.”

Barret snorted. “How tragic for you. Well lemme tell you: Materia healing ain’t magic. It’s got two tiers of usefulness, but there’s definitely shit it can’t do.”

He held up two fingers. “Tier one: invigoration. Think of it like a full night’s rest you can down like chugging a cup of coffee, but with no crash later. Clears fatigue, bruises start to fade – useful stuff, but it ain’t mending no broken bones. That’s about the limit of what you can do safely without training. Now at tier two, stuff’s basically a triage tool. It can keep you from bleeding out, repair fractures and cuts ... but it ain’t energy-efficient. There’s a reason you don’t wanna use something like that to get a critically wounded soldier back in the fight; it’ll burn you right out if you try. Now if it’s the difference between life and death, sure, it’s worth the risk to get a person stabilized. But you’re basically consignin’ yo’self to two guys outta the fight, you follow me?”

“Huh ... I guess you’d know.”

“Way I had it explained to me, wieldin’ healing Materia’s like using muscles you didn’t know you had.” He flexed the powerful muscles in his arms and chest, making them stand out beneath his dark skin. “You know what happens if you strain muscles you don’t exercise? Bad shit, son! Doc used to tell me there are these surgeons who specialize in using healing Materia, like for emergency rooms and such – those guys are basically professional athletes in how much they gotta train and toughen up.”

“But ...” Wedge rubbed his shoulder unconsciously. “That lady, with the pink dress ... When I fell off the tower – and managed to catch myself on the way down, remember? I’m pretty sure I tore something real bad ... But she managed to fix me up and I’m just fine now.” He rolled his shoulder for emphasis.

Cloud frowned. “That’s because she wasn’t using Materia. Healing is just ... something she can do.”

He still didn’t know why. Uncertainly, he turned his attention inward. _Hey ... Zack_.

_‘Huh?’_

_You have any thoughts?_

_‘... I’m thinking “huh,” makes me sound clueless. Maybe I should try something like, “yo!” Then it can be like, “Hey, Zack.” “Yo!” “You have any thoughts –” ’_

_I_ _**meant** _ _any thoughts about Aerith. If I’m remembering things right, you seemed pretty keen on having me protect her, back in Wall Market. Did you know her?_

_‘Oh! I dunno.’_

_What do you mean you don’t know?_

_‘... Look man, I don’t know anything you don’t know. I just ... feel about it how Zack would feel.’_

_What?_

He was interrupted from this confusing introspection by Tifa and Elmyra descending the stairs. “Jessie’s asleep,” Tifa told them, although her brow was still pinched with concern. “I think she’ll make it, but she probably shouldn’t get out of that bed for a _while_.”

Elmyra, meanwhile, seemed to be doing a quiet count of all assembled. “... four, five ... _six,_ on the couch. Plus the two upstairs ... Right.” She turned towards the kitchen. “Shortbread it is.”

“Mrs. Gainsborough, you don’t have to do that,” Tifa protested. “Just letting us invade your house ...”

“It’s not just for you,” Elmyra confided. “I bake when stressed; I find it soothing.” More quietly, she added, “Shinra has my daughter now.”

The room was silent, except for the shifting of cloth as Marco stirred feebly on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” said Cloud. He didn’t know what else to say. _Some bodyguard I was._

“No.” Tifa stepped forward. “I’m the one who asked her to go get Marlene. We’d only just met, but she was so kind and helpful. I ... took advantage of her.”

Elmyra shook her head. “It’s not your fault. At least, no more than it is mine.” She began getting out the flour and a mixing bowl, eyes downcast. “I think she knew this was coming. To tell the truth, I did as well. I was just ... spitting in the wind. It was only a matter of time before she ended up back there.”

Cloud thought back, to everything they’d seen and all the impossible events they’d experienced. “Aerith knew a lot of things. Some of them, pretty hard to wrap my head around.” He looked up at her. “Mrs. Gainsborough, what _is_ your daughter? She’s not just an average human being, is she?”

Elmyra hesitated. “... No. No, she isn’t.” She broke eggs into the mixing bowl. “Aerith ... is an Ancient. Probably the last one living.” She gave a deep sigh. “She’s not my daughter by blood, as you probably guessed. We first met ... well, it must have been about fifteen years ago, when she and her mother escaped from Shinra’s lab ...”

* * *

“... I want every able bodied Turk you have on this.”

Tseng had long, _extensive_ practice in keeping his face perfectly straight and his tone perfectly even. “That would be me, sir,” he murmured into his phone.

“Then you know what you have to do.”

“Of course, sir. Tseng, out.” He ended the call. “Due to the crisis, the Vice President is returning early,” he said aloud to the room. “I’m to go provide escort and protection.”

“You think you can do a fuckin’ thing against Sephiroth?” Reno snarked moodily.

“Nonetheless, I have my orders.”

“Oh yes, have to follow orders, don’t we.” Reno made a hiccuping sound and giggled in a way that made the hair stand up on the back of Tseng’s neck.

“ _You_ need medical attention,” Tseng told him. “Now.”

“Tsk. Pass.”

“You don’t _get_ to pass on this, Reno.”

“I’m not going to Goddess-damn Medical, alright? I’ll come out of there with some fucking ... third arm or some shit,” he grumbled and growled to himself.

Tseng took a deep breath, calling on patience, but was distracted by Rude. “ _What_ are you doing?”

“Calling my family. They’re frantic and need to know I’m okay.”

 _Not a chance._ Tseng knew the look of a man who was emotionally compromised – and that mutter of, _“Just don’t ask daddy what he did at work today,”_ still haunted him. One wrong question and Rude, easily flustered at the best of times, would break down completely. If he actually went home ... A full night away from Shinra, in a place where he might start to lose the context for his actions, where his perspective might start to shift due to exposure to normalcy ...

_No. I’ve handled far too many ‘Turk Retirement Parties.’ I am NOT allowing a situation practically engineered to make yet another agent go rogue._

“You’re in no condition to talk to _anyone_.” Tseng held out a hand. “Give me the phone. _I’ll_ call them. You _stay here_ and rest up.”

Rude’s eyes narrowed behind his shades. “I’d much rather go home and rest,” he rumbled dangerously.

Tseng’s team was falling apart around him. He held Rude’s gaze evenly. “It’s a matter of company security,” he explained. “I don’t want you, in a moment of vulnerability, leaking something about what happened tonight. You know how dangerous that could be right now; the higher-ups are already looking for someone to punish to make them feel like they’re in control again. _Nothing_ about tonight went according to plan.”

Reno brayed a manic laugh. “It’s no skin off our nose though, right?” He took an unsteady step forward, fey grin locking his features. “We get told to press a button, we do it. What comes after is no concern of ours ... _right?_ ”

This was bad. Tseng had seen exactly that same look before, on men who were about to snap and charge into machine gun nests. Reno was too close, moving deep into his personal space, digging for retaliation. Time to de-escalate.

Tseng took a step back and turned away. “Rude, what did you give him?”

“A shot of the heavy stuff ... The stuff they say can get a man to walk off a battlefield on two broken legs?”

Tseng nodded, businesslike. “Right. Rude, get him patched up with the first aid kit. _Stay here_ and neither of you sign _anything_ until I get back. _Do not leave this office_ , understood?”

“I have to piss,” Reno grumbled sullenly.

“You can use the bathroom and Rude can bring you snacks from the vending machine. Anything else, call an intern to bring you room service. That’s what interns are _for_.” He paused for a moment. “Have them bring you clean clothes, while they’re at it.”

“ _Any_ room service?” Rude asked. “I could use a drink.”

“You’re not supposed to drink in the building,” Reno needled with a sly grin.

Tseng frowned thoughtfully, then reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle and two glasses. “Given tonight’s circumstances, I think I can make an exception.” He poured himself a healthy measure and downed it in a single gulp.

Reno’s eyes were wide. “ _Chief_ ... Can I have some?”

“No. Alcohol or painkillers, not both.”

“Aww, c’mon! Why do you do this to me, chief?”

“Because I hate you personally and want you to suffer.” _You’re not killing yourself while I can stop you._ “And I refuse to fill out the paperwork for such a stupid death.”

Reno grumbled. “That’s fair ...” he acknowledged grumpily. “Paperwork sucks.”

Tseng collected Rude’s phone on the way out. Thankfully, his wife’s number was listed in the emergency contacts and he didn’t actually need to unlock the phone in order to call her. He typed the number into his phone, then went back a step and added the number into _his_ contacts. He never knew when it might be useful – and it was hardly the worst invasion of privacy Turks were expected to tolerate.

“This is Tseng,” he told the frantic woman on the other end of the line. “Your husband is fine. Everyone is incredibly busy dealing with the current crisis and the Turks are of course on the front line,” he lied smoothly, “which is why I promised to call you on his behalf.”

After a few minutes spent reassuring Rude’s wife as he walked down the halls, he was finally able to hang up. He let out his breath. _You’re not doing well either. You’re just doing better by comparison._

“Tseng! _Just_ the man I was _hoping_ to see.”

Tseng’s eye twitched, but he was able to get any further involuntary reactions under control as he turned. “Professor Hojo.”

“Concise and professional.” The man smiled in a way that made Tseng’s skin crawl. “I was hoping to garner your assistance on a little _project_ of mine.”

“You already have access to the best of Shinra security and I am _frightfully_ busy. If you’ll excuse me, I have orders directly from the President –”

“This will only take a moment.” Hojo clasped his hands together. “As you might be aware, there was a _fascinating_ degree of connection implied in the exchange between the Ancient and the newly resurfaced prototype of Project S. Naturally, everyone is begging for my insight, but the process of _science_ marches on. In fact, the timeline for certain aspects has _accelerated_ to help us mitigate potential risks.” He looked positively gleeful at the process of getting to do more science sooner than anticipated.

“Which is where we come to _you_ ,” Hojo continued with another skin-crawling smile. “Simply put, I would like the Ancient to reproduce. In the absence of a second specimen, we would need to identify alternative mates. My preference are candidates from SOLDIER – there’s no telling what properties a cross-bred specimen might produce. But we will likely be in need of a control candidate. How _is_ the red-headed boy? Were any of his sexual organs damaged in the fighting?”

Tseng felt cold. “You’re considering Reno.”

“A promising candidate on a number of levels, both physical and mental. Plus his already present attraction to the Ancient might ease any potential stress in the conception –”

 _Tseng went for his gun. In a moment, Hojo was pinned against the far wall, the barrel of a pistol pressed under his chin. “If you_ _**touch** _ _either Reno or Aerith ...” Tseng breathed in his ear._

Tseng blinked the vision away. He was so close; he could feel the tightness in his muscles begging to explode into movement. _No, calm._ Hojo was a department head of Shinra. A very dangerous and powerful man – more powerful than Tseng.

There were rumors. Whispers. Tseng wouldn’t be the first Turk Hojo had made disappear. He had to handle this with his wits.

Tseng just barely managed to suppress all hints of a reaction. “I am afraid such a request could grievously impact my team’s ability to continue the execution of their duties,” he said with careful, cool neutrality. “Given the gravity of our current situation, I would need to speak to the President directly before risking undermining our effectiveness at this critical juncture.”

“It wouldn’t take much,” Hojo assured him. “If the issue is the physical act, a simple sample the next time he’s in Medical ...”

“I am afraid the potential mental impact of having offspring as specimens are a part of my consideration. Part of that mental acuity you admire, alas, has shown itself to be a knack for uncovering information – highly useful in his current job, I’m sure you’ll agree. Unfortunately, not everyone has the fortitude of character you do, Professor Hojo, to offer up one’s own child for the advancement of science. It is my job to know the character and functional limits of my people; I’m compelled to say the potential loss of efficacy is high, both in likelihood and in severity. With security more of an issue than ever, I’m sure you can understand my hesitation.”

Hojo looked disappointed. “Ah yes ... I suppose such small-minded matters of _security_ and the like _are_ your job ... Very well. _Do_ speak to the President at your first opportunity ...”

Tseng waited until Professor Hojo was well out of sight, then pulled out his phone. He had confiscated Rude’s phone, so he called Reno’s.

“You forget something, Chief?”

“Yes. I realized I never responded to your official refusal of medical attention.”

“Well, I dunno about _official_ , but –”

“By my order, you are _not_ to go to the Medical wing under _any circumstances_ until I say otherwise. You are not to submit any tissue or fluid samples of _any kind._ You are not to speak to, nor interact with Professor Hojo, nor let him into the office.”

“... This seems like an oddly specific set of instructions, Chief.”

“If anyone takes issue, send the to me. Are my instructions understood?”

“Loud and clear, Chief!”

Tseng ended the call and took a second to squeeze the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. _You can’t stop. If you refuse an order, they’ll just get someone else to do it._

Tseng didn’t believe in pointless gestures. He was a practical man, not a good one. He wanted to be a good man, but he’d seen the bloody aftermath of a man much better than him taking a stand to follow his conscience. The Turks had been _on the way_ to collect Zack without bloodshed when he’d been gunned down. It was a situation where, if Tseng had been in the right place at the right time, he could have prevented a little brightness in the world from being snuffed out.

_You can’t be a good man; you have too much blood on your hands. All you can do is mitigate the harm where you can._

Like when men in custom-tailored suits had given the order to drop a plate, filled with the houses of their own employees, on a sector filled with people and Tseng had done ... what?

_That is a very dangerous question. You do not want to start thinking down those lines._

Yet ...

Providence had saved them from the consequences of their actions, but it didn’t change the fact that all involved had been committed to those actions. They had been willing to accept that blood on their hands.

Except now, there was time to second-guess, to question and examine. In a way, it would have been easier if the plate _had_ fallen. If it had been done ... it would be _done_. Tseng would have been _forced_ to find a way to live with it – because there would have been no other choice except to not live at all. It was like he had sold his soul, then had the contract ripped to pieces right before he crossed the infernal threshold. Now, having glimpsed hell, he was left to wonder whether the original deal had been worth it.

Tseng was a practical man. Except to protect itself, his mind would not let him ignore implications; the executives’ decision to drop the plate had spelled a clear message to anyone in the know. Innocence did not guarantee safety. Loyalty was not rewarded. At what point did it become no less risky to have neither?

_A reckoning is coming._

The only question was: from what quarter? From a people pushed to desperation? From a being of unimaginable power they had not known to fear before today? _Or, if they decide to order Reno to rape Aerith no matter what you say, will you decide the best way to mitigate harm is by pulling your gun one last time on some men in custom-tailored suits?_

He was over-stressed. In need of R&R. He needed to focus on the moment, or he wouldn’t be able to carry out his duties – which would then fall on his battered team, currently teetering on the edge of mental breakdown.

_I’ll carry the burden for them. But do not ask me to sell my soul again. None of us will be happy with where that ends._

_* * *_

Avalanche had reconvened out in Aerith’s gardens. The small cottage had been getting rather crowded and there was less risk of waking people out here. They had also all needed time to talk.

“I think I’m going to need to sit down ...” Wedge murmured, sounding queasy. Now that they neither had to save their breath for carrying wounded, nor had to deal with a frantic Barret who wasn’t in a state to listen to anything, Tifa and Cloud had finally, _finally_ gotten a chance to explain what they knew about the Arbiters and Fate.

“So, those visions ...” Biggs said slowly. “Those were, what? Little snippets of destiny? Were they, uh, not great for anyone else?”

“I saw, like, an alternate present,” Wedge said, still looking green. “I saw I was supposed to die.”

“You too, huh?”

Barret frowned. “Well I’m pretty sure I saw the future – and let me tell you, it didn’t look so good. Thing’s been haunting me ever since I saw it. There was this ... giant _meteor_ , headin’ for the planet. Thing was as big as Midgar – and I know, because it was headin’ _for_ Midgar. With Marlene right in the blast radius. Thing was gonna crack the planet open and emulsify my little girl! That can’t be our future, can it?”

Cloud shook his head. “Even if it was, it’s not certain now.”

Tifa’s brow pinched together with worry. “Good ... because I really didn’t like what I saw.”

“What did _you_ see?”

“... Loss.” Tifa took a deep breath, then explained about Aerith’s body and the lake, as well as Cloud falling into the Lifestream and her glimpse of Sephiroth.

Cloud was frowning hard when she finished. “Aerith dead and Sephiroth ... I don’t like it. Not when I saw Sephiroth too, in one of my visions.”

“What did you see?” Tifa asked him.

“In one, Sephiroth and I were fighting. Can’t tell you much else. The other ... This one’s a bit weird. I’m pretty sure it was the past.” He took a deep breath. “You’ve all probably noticed my ... migraines, I guess. I think I’ve finally figured out why I'm having them. Something’s _up_ with my memories. I don’t have all the pieces and I don’t quite understand why. I _do_ know there was this guy named Zack. Black spiky hair, another First Class SOLDIER, wielded the Buster Sword before me.” He frowned, bringing his hand up to his head. “Here’s the strange thing. I _know_ we must have been close. But before today, I didn’t have any memory of him at _all_.”

The others glanced at each other. Some looked concerned, some looked unsure, some looked disturbed.

“I remember him dying,” Cloud continued. “I have no context for the memory; it just cuts in, mid-sentence. He was on the ground, his chest full of bullet holes. I remember Midgar in the distance. Before he died, he handed me the Buster Sword. _Made_ me take it. He called me his ‘living legacy’ and told me to ‘embrace my dreams.’

“Then, when he died ... something strange happened. I _think_ ...” His brow furrowed further. “Somehow, he managed to transfer a ... an _imprint_ of some kind into my head. I’m not sure how. But I’ve been hearing his voice ever since I got here. I thought it was just my own thoughts at first – like how you sometimes carry on conversations with yourself? It took me hearing Zack’s voice in the vision to realize I was talking to an entirely different person. Now I can hold entire conversations like he’s actually there.”

“Buddy ...” Biggs said very carefully. “Don’t take this the wrong way ... But what you’re describing sounds an awful lot like multiple personality disorder – or at least, like what I’ve heard of it. I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” he added quickly. “Just ... You’re hearing the voice of a guy you didn’t even ‘remember’ before today. Are you sure you shouldn’t ... see a doctor or something? Just to be sure?”

“Zack ... Fair?” Tifa asked unexpectedly. “Black spiky hair, smiled easily, kind of puppyish? No, he existed; I _remember_ him.”

Cloud looked almost as surprised as everyone else. “Then I’m _not_ crazy ...” he murmured quietly to himself. He looked strangely comforted. Relieved.

Barret sat on a low stone wall and crossed one leg over his knee. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said dryly. “I still remember a certain _someone_ launching himself at the man keeping an entire plate from falling on our heads.”

“Yeah ... I’d like an explanation, too,” said Wedge, nodding. He glanced back and forth between Tifa and Cloud. “You two seemed pretty upset when General Sephiroth showed up. Like, more upset than seeing a dead man would make anyone, you know?”

“You said he killed your parents,” Biggs said quietly.

Tifa closed her eyes. Unconsciously, her arms came up to wrap around herself, hands gripping her biceps so hard it made the skin white. Cloud took a deep breath. “Sephiroth is not to be trusted. He used to be my hero, once. But that all changed when we were dispatched on a mission to Nibelheim ...”

* * *

Aerith sat in the exact center of the specimen tank, legs tucked under her, hands resting in her lap. She kept her head bowed, her eyes almost closed. She wanted it to almost look like she was meditating.

_Poise. Elegance._

She wanted to pace the diameter of her cell, run circles around its parameter, claw at the unyielding walls until she dropped once more from exhaustion. But she _must_ not let them catch the slightest whiff of weakness. They’d be on her like carrion eaters, seeking to harry a wounded creature to its demise so they could feast. _As bad as things will get, they’ll make them infinitely worse if they think you’re close to breaking._

She had no privacy. None. The encircling walls were completely transparent, cameras focusing in on her from all sides. She was not a person, but a thing to study. There were eyes watching her every moment, observing constantly for signs she might escape, or hurt herself, or simply noting down anything interesting she did.

_Be boring._

Her cage was absent anything at all that could provide her stimulation. She had to return the favor. If she projected an air of serene grace and kept her movements minimal, eyes would wander. Attention could slip away from her monitor. It was the only respite she could hope for, the only form of privacy she was likely to get.

There were no accommodations for human dignity here. Everything she did was exposed, stared at, and recorded. She’d stopped eating, stopped tearing open the little packets of water to drink. _I only have to hold out until rescue,_ she thought.

She _would_ get out. The feather was a _promise._ She had to believe that.

She tried to distract herself by thinking about how it would happen. She needed _something_ to occupy her mind while she appeared to be meditating.

Sephiroth had said Avalanche always came to rescue her. Well, technically, he’d implied it. But it stood to reason it was Avalanche who extracted her each time. _Of course, if Fate WAS defeated, that’s much less certain now, isn’t it?_

She squashed that thought hard. No, she _couldn’t_ afford to think about that right now. Avalanche _would_ come. Sephiroth would likely wait until they did all the work for him, then snatch her up as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He wasn’t going to let her stay in here forever when she’d finally agreed to give him what he wanted. It would happen; she didn’t need to be strong forever, just until rescue came.

_“When you’re lucky, it’s a few days. Sometimes, it’s a week. Once, it was a month.”_

Aerith swallowed; every time those words whispered through her mind, she had to push down a surge of panic.

 _You’ll be alright, alright ..._ How did she expect to survive even a week without water? _**Don’t**_ _think about that._

They’d try to break her spirit. That was why she was here: to dehumanize her, to humiliate her, to break her down until she was too emotionally battered to do anything but what she was told. They wouldn’t dare touch her body; she was too valuable and irreplaceable. _Just like they wouldn’t hurt the last of the pureblooded Cetra?_

But in any contest of spirt, she had an advantage. She had hope, hope they didn’t know about. They thought time was on their side, but it was really on hers. While they sat confident that they had _forever_ to slowly break her down, she knew that every second that crept by was one second closer to rescue.

“Aerith, my dear, you’re being _unreasonable_.”

Aerith nearly jumped out of her skin. She _never_ had people sneak up on her, but the resonance of the Calamity drowned out all else. As she lifted her head to look through the glass of the tank, the man she saw standing outside was scarcely less horrifying. A white lab coat, dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and round glasses perched on a beaked nose.

For a surreal moment, she tried to find traces of his son in him. She couldn’t see it.

Professor Hojo placed a hand against his chest. “I’ve come down here, all this way, from a very important meeting, because I _care_ about you _._ What’s _best_ for you, that’s all I want. But this?” He tutted his tongue against his teeth as he gestured at the half a dozen or so unopened food and water packets scattered around her.

He held up a chiding finger. “Now, I can _understand_ why you might be upset. And, if it were just food, I’d be inclined to _indulge_ your little tantrum,” he added with what sounded like a fond chuckle. “But water? Aerith ... you know better. Surely you must be _aware_ the average female requires approximately twelve cups of water a day?”

Oh. Oh, _there_ it was. Not in the shape of his face, but in something far deeper. _And I thought Sephiroth was terrifying when he was trying to be comforting. All things considered, I’m starting to reevaluate how bad he walked away in comparison._

Hojo gave a deep sigh. “My dear Aerith ... You disappoint me.” He lifted two fingers and made a little “come forward” motion.

Aerith’s heart seized. A pair of guards came out of the shadows, rolling between them something that looked like a heavy table, covered in straps. Various tubing dangled from it and prominently displayed was a mask designed to go over the face.

“Surely you cannot believe you’re the first specimen I’ve had to deal with who engaged in _such_ theatrics?” Hojo asked as the guards set up the bed. “Surely you cannot believe I’d allow such a _valuable_ specimen to waste away?” He shook his head, moving to the control panel on the side of the tank and tapping away. “I would _so_ like to do this more _cleanly_. But, if you cannot be trusted to look after yourself ...” There was a hiss from above and the air took on a bitter chemical scent. “... then I will do what I must.”

Composure was forgotten, replaced by primal terror. Aerith flung herself at the glass, slamming into it with her shoulder and beating against it with her fists. The gas stung her eyes and her head spun. Part of her _knew_ her frantically pounding heart was only going to make the gas do its work faster. She’d last longer if she just stayed still, didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her panic. But maintaining her poise would just delay the inevitable; she had to _fight_ , to _try_ , to grasp for the faintest hope, even though she knew the glass was designed to hold creatures far stronger than herself. Her fingernails clawed at the cracks in the door, desperately seeking and failing to find purchase.

“I only want what’s _best_ for you, Aerith,” Hojo said, sounding strangely far away. “You have to understand that; I will do _anything_ to protect you. Even if the thing you need protecting from is yourself.”

Aerith’s knees gave way. She slid down the glass, strikes growing feebler, until she was too weak to beat on it any more. As she lay crumpled on the floor, the world slowly growing dark around her, she mustered up the strength for one last burst of effort. Her hand reached out ... and closed around one of the packets of water.

Hojo tapped on the control panel. A breath of fresh air brushed her face and Aerith drew in a deep, gasping breath.

“I’m so glad you decided to be _reasonable,_ ” he told her as she lay curled around herself, coughing. He gestured at the two guards. “We won’t be needing that table ... today.”

As they wheeled it away, Hojo squatted down outside the tank so he was closer to level with her. “I know it must be hard. Change always takes a little adjustment. But one day you’ll see, this is all in your best interests. Just remember, Aerith ... I _care._ ”

With that, he stood and walked away. Aerith was left, clutching the small packet of water, covering her head as she began to cry.

* * *

“... After the confrontation in the reactor,” Cloud finished up, “then things start to get hazy.” His face was pale and drawn; he’d started massaging his forehead with his fingertips. “I think ... I think he must have turned away from me then, back to Jenova, dismissing me like ... like I was nothing. Because I remember lunging forward and stabbing him in the back with the Buster Sword.” He drew the weapon and held it up, a mute demonstration of the broadness of the blade. “With a wound like that ... He _had_ to be dead. Except ... then he caught up to me on the bridge.”

Both hands came up to clutch his forehead. “He ... he had Jenova’s head under one arm. He’d cut it off. I tried ... but then he stabbed me. Somehow ... maybe it was because I was SOLDIER, I didn’t die. I ... grabbed the blade.” His hands came down, making a convulsive grabbing motion in front of his chest. “I don’t know how I did it. But, adrenaline, anger ... While he was still holding the sword, I turned and _threw_ him over the side. I remember his shocked face, falling ... Then I don’t remember anything after that.”

His eyes narrowed and he shook his head sharply, as if hoping to flick off the pain like buzzing flies so he could think. “That’s how I remember it. Except ... parts of the memory don’t make sense. I remember _having_ the Buster Sword; that’s a key element. But ... But Zack didn’t give it to me until right before I reached Midgar. My memory is ...” He turned to look at Tifa helplessly. “You were there ... do you remember it all happening like this?”

Tifa was silent for a long moment. “... No. Cloud, I ... I don’t remember you being there at all. Everything you said, the parts I was there for, it happened _exactly_ like that. But ... but I remember Zack being there with the Buster Sword, not you.”

“That ...” Cloud’s hand started to lower. “If it’s Zack’s memory, that ... might explain it.” Then he clutched his head again. “Except, it _doesn’t_. I _remember_ having conversations with Sephiroth about it being my home town. I remember visiting _my mother._ Zack ... Zack wasn’t from Nibelheim, was he?”

“No ... not that I’m aware of.”

“Then I _had_ to be there. I _had_ to!”

Tifa looked at his face and what she saw _terrified_ her. He had both hands pressed to his skull, like he was fighting to hold in enormous pressure. His face was screwed up in pain and he was breathing fast, almost hyperventilating. He was in so much tension, he looked on the verge of snapping. _Which way? Will he shatter internally? Or will he lash out like a wounded animal, unable to get at the source of his problem so it’ll attack the nearest thing that looks like it could be a threat?_

 _No, no, no – I can’t have either!_ Nibelheim. The near loss of Sector 7. Aerith gone. Jessie lying near death. Now Cloud speaking with such passion, such _conviction_ about things that were too _accurate_ to be invented ... All of Tifa’s fear of loss, of driving away her oldest surviving friend burbled up, fueling her words. “Hang on, wait – _wait!_ I was injured too, you know.” Her hand pressed flat over the scar beneath her breasts. “Maybe it’s _my_ memory that’s faulty.”

Cloud looked at her, uncertain, but with a seed of hope starting to bloom in his eyes. “Do you think so? But ... that wouldn’t explain all the inconsistencies.”

“Maybe not. But it’s enough that, for now, we should just focus on the details we _can_ agree on.” She took a deep breath. “The big one being: Sephiroth burned our home town to the ground. He murdered my father, he murdered Cloud’s mother, he murdered _everyone_ ,” she said, her voice rising, “and he betrayed _all of us_ when we thought he had come to save us!”

“A Shinra lackey promising to save the day, then it ends with everything on fire ...” Barret murmured under his breath. “I’ve heard this song and dance before.”

“Sephiroth _cannot_ be trusted,” Cloud said with absolute conviction.

“Now, hold up!” Barret cried. “Let’s just say parts of that story were pretty familiar ... but there's still a lot that don't make _sense_ about this situation! I’m not sure you were lookin’ at the screen, but that Turk seemed as surprised at his ass showing up as we were. And why would Sephiroth want to save Sector 7 if he’s as evil as you think he is?”

“... Aerith.” Tifa’s fingers tightened on her arms. “You heard what she said. He wanted something out of her and sixty thousand lives was the payment.”

“... Because she’s an Ancient, you think?” Biggs frowned, trying to make all the pieces fit.

“Being an Ancient must be how she knew all she did,” Cloud mused, nodding. “We don’t know what other abilities she has. But, she told me Fate wouldn’t _let_ her answer questions about Sephiroth. Clearly, he was supposed to be important.” He looked up at all of them. “I think I have an idea how all this fits together.”

“Oh?” Barret leaned in “Then enlighten us, because I’m so in the dark, I’m about to ditch my shades!” He pushed them up onto his forehead with one finger by way of illustration.

“Sephiroth _played_ us. He wanted to break the hold of Fate – not just to save Sector 7, but to further some greater scheme. Aerith told me that myself and some other people – I think Tifa too – were destined to be very important. I think that important thing we were supposed to do was stop Sephiroth. I think, if everything had gone as destined, we would have won – that’s where my vision of my fight with Sephiroth comes in. But at a heavy cost. Barret, Tifa ... I think you got a glimpse of some of that cost.”

“Are you sayin’ you think Sephiroth had – will have – would have – whatever! – something to do with a giant rock from _space?_ ”

“I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but we saw him _hold up a plate._ Plus possess Marco, fight a giant Avatar of Fate – who _knows_ what else he can do? Now Fate’s out of the way and he’s extracted a deal from the last living Ancient. He _used_ us to help fight his battles; now he’s free to carry out his master plan!”

“Wh – we have to do something, then!” cried Wedge. He looked down. “I know I’m not strong ... and I know I’m not anybody’s destined savior. I was supposed to die a pointless death. But ... I have a new lease on life. I want to _do_ something with it. So, I want to help, if I can.”

Biggs rubbed his chin. “The question is, what?”

Tifa blinked at him. “You’re in, too?”

“Of course!” He grinned at her. “Going up against someone like that? Sounds crazy. I wouldn’t have joined Avalanche if I wasn’t up for desperate schemes. Besides.” He reached over and punched Wedge’s shoulder. “With Jessie laid up, someone will need to carry the snacks.”

Tifa thought his eyes moved away from hers a little too quickly, like there was something else behind his motivation that his joking exterior was there to disguise. With all the uncertainty, however, she didn’t want to push _anyone_ too hard at the moment. She was distracted further when he continued. “The question still needs an answer, though. Wanting to do something is fine, but without a plan for what, we’re just running in circles.”

“Aerith,” Tifa said quietly. She looked up at them all. “Sephiroth wanted her for something. If we save her ...”

Cloud was already nodding, his mind seeming to leap along the same lines as hers. “Of course. And with Fate no longer in the way, maybe she can tell us more of what Sephiroth is planning.”

“Beyond that,” Tifa appealed to the rest of them, “she sacrificed herself to save us. To save everyone. We _have_ to help her.”

“ _Hrm_ ...” Barret made a rumbling noise under his breath. He pushed himself to his feet. “That girl rescued my Marlene. I’m all for rescuin’ her in return. Particularly because even if Sephiroth doesn’t have her, Shinra does – and I hate to think what those dogs want with her. But before you go charging off right this second like you look like you want to, we all need _rest_.”

“Huh?” Cloud stared at him, appalled. “We need to go _tonight_ , before Sephiroth has time to get to her first.”

“ _What_ night?” Barret waved his arm in the direction of the slowly lightening eastern sky, visible on the horizon beyond the edge of the plate. “How much time have you been awake doing shit? Now, I’ll be the first to storm Shinra HQ all by myself if I have to! But if we go up there like this, we’re gonna be sloppy. And it’ll be broad daylight by time we get there – assuming we _can_ get there!”

“Trains were already shut down,” Wedge murmured, looking worried. “How are we supposed to make it plate-side?”

Tifa frowned and turned to the final member of Avalanche. “Biggs, your grappling gun was different from ours. It was motorized – I saw you using it to move around. Where did you get it?”

“This?” Biggs withdrew the device and examined it. “Nice little thing, isn’t it? I got it on the black market. There’s a fellow in Wall Market who sells all kinds of things.”

“Wall Market.” Cloud looked grim. “That means dealing with Corneo again.”

Tifa suppressed a groan. However, a moment later, her eyes had narrowed and she punched one fist into her palm for the satisfying sound of impact. “That bastard. He _knew_ about Sector 7 and he was just going to let them drop the plate. I’d like a _word_ or two with him – and it won’t involve fancy dresses this time.”

“It sounds like we got ourselves the makings of a plan,” Barret said. “Rest, Wall Market, then what?”

“Well.” Tifa gestured at the distant mass of the Sector 7 plate, leaning at an angle. “With a little assistance, I think we could climb that. There’s no way they have enough forces to patrol an area as big as the entire edge of a plate – at least not in any way we couldn’t slip past or fight our way through.”

“I’m hoping for the second option,” Barret growled. “Those bastards were willing to kill everyone in Sector 7; I’m hoping to return the favor on a few of them real soon.” He spun the barrels on his gun arm grimly. “Right. We got a lot of work to do, kids. So get some sleep! The more you rest now, the less stupid being tired’s gonna make you, later!”

“You go on ahead,” Tifa told the others. “I think I want to stay out in the gardens for a while.”

“I’ll stay with you,” said Cloud.

“Huh. Suit yo’self.”

Tifa waited until they were all out of sight before turning to Cloud. “Thank you ... but you don’t have to stay here. Barret’s right; we’ve all had a long night ... and a long day before it ... and I know you stayed up late the night before.”

Cloud shook his head. “Not sure I could sleep yet, anyway.” He hesitated, then added, “Besides, everything you said about me applies to you.”

Her arms wrapped around herself. “I just ... need some time to wind down.”

Cloud nodded. “There’s a spot on that hillock. Looks like a good place to watch the sunrise.”

“Thank you.”

The two sat in silence for a while, watching the glints of red and gold start to appear beyond the leaning edifice of the Sector 7 plate.

“It’s funny,” Tifa said after a little bit. “I don’t remember the last time I saw the real sun. I suppose it peeked under the edge of the plate every sunrise and sunset – and I know I _must_ have gone shopping plateside during the day at some point. But ... I don’t _remember_ it.” Her hands squeezed each other in her lap. “I wish I could remember that instead of ...”

Cloud pursed his lips. “Sun is overrated. Too much of it and you get sunburn anyway.”

Tifa giggled. “Thanks, Cloud.” She gave him a bit of a shaky smile. “I suppose, with your hair and a red face, you’d look kind of like the sun with a sunburn.”

“Wouldn’t be as cheerful as it, though.”

“How would you know? For all we know, the sun could be as sullen and reserved as you are.”

“Fair,” he acknowledged.

The two sat in silence a while longer.

“I’m worried about Aerith,” Tifa admitted quietly.

“I am too.”

“She _sacrificed_ herself for us. Now Shinra has her and Sephiroth wants her – I don’t know which is the greater monster.”

“We’ll get her back,” Cloud promised, his face firm.

“I just ...” Tifa moved closer to Cloud, pressing against his shoulder for comfort. “That vision I saw ... I don’t want to lose her. I don’t want to lose _you._ But, all of this ...” She lifted her chin in the direction of the leaning plate. “We can _win_ , but we can still _lose._ I keep thinking about Seventh Heaven. It’s still standing, but ... but we can’t go back, can we? Shinra knows about it; Corneo told them. We _won;_ we saved so many people ... But ... Our friend? The bar? My _life_? They keep _taking_ things from us! And ... and I _should_ be happy because of how much we saved, but –” She swiped a hand across the back of her eyes. “– but I just _can’t_ stop ...” She turned her head into his shoulder and began to cry.

Cloud’s body was still against hers for a long time while she poured out her tears against his uniform. _You’re being STUPID,_ Tifa raged against herself. _He doesn’t want to deal with this ..._

Then his arms came up and wrapped around her, tight. _Oh ... I understand now._ She could _feel_ the slight shaking in his arms, the way they squeezed just a little too hard, as if he were holding onto _her_ as much as she was seeking to find comfort in him.

... They were actually squeezing much too tight. Cloud seemed to have forgotten he wasn’t just fit, but superhuman. “Cloud ... Cloud, you’re hurting me.”

“Huh?” His arms opened reflexively and he pulled back.

Tifa scrubbed at her eyes. She hadn’t meant to make him feel self-conscious. _Vulnerability sometimes brings a loss of control ... I can see why that’s something to feel anxious about when everything else is weaker than you._

“I feel so _selfish_ ,” Tifa sighed. “There’s ... so much _worse_ pain out there. Yet here I am, crying because of my own little, stupid problems ...”

Cloud was quiet for a moment, then leaned over and punched her arm.

“Ow! What –?”

“Hurt, didn’t it?”

“Yes!”

Cloud motioned with his chin in the direction of the upper floor of Elmyra’s little cottage. “Jessie’s laying up there with shattered ribs. Did that make the punch hurt less?”

Tifa didn’t respond.

Cloud’s shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. “Bigger pain matters in triage; if you can only solve a limited number of problems, you focus on the most critical ones, right? But it doesn’t mean the lesser hurts aren’t _real_. We’re not ignoring the big problems ... so it’s okay to be sad.”

“... That was surprisingly deep, Cloud.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Zack came up with the metaphor,” he admitted. “Zack Imprint.” He frowned. “It’s ... not the real Zack. We both know that.”

“We can still _call_ him Zack?” Tifa offered. “It’s probably easier than saying ‘Zack Imprint’ all the time.”

“He likes that.” He rubbed his head. “It’s so ... weird, having someone in your head who’s a lot suaver than you are.”

“... The Zack I remember didn’t seem particularly ‘suave.’ ‘Sweet’ and ‘enthusiastic,’ maybe.”

“He’s still so much better at ... at _people_.”

“You still recognized a good idea when he said it,” Tifa pointed out. “And you’re _trying_ to help me. That matters so much more than having a natural talent.”

“Yeah, but he has natural talent _and_ wants to try.” He paused for a moment. “He’s trying to feed me suggestions. I think he wants to be my wingman.”

Tifa laughed. “I wish _I_ had a wingman to feed me helpful suggestions sometime.”

“But you’re already so _good_ at ... _people._ ”

She smiled at him. “ _Nobody’s_ good at people all the time. Even those with a knack for it.” She chuckled a little. “I actually don’t really know how to do it when I’m _trying._ It just _happens_ , so I never really paid attention to it.”

“Huh ... I never thought about it like that.”

She rested her head against his shoulder. After a moment, his arm wrapped around her waist. “Is this too much?”

“You can do a little tighter than that. A little more ... _there_ , that’s perfect.”

He looked relieved to have this clear and explicit guidance. “I’ll remember,” he promised.

“I’ll try to give you opportunities to practice.”

Together, the two of them watched the sunrise.

* * *

The main lab had emptied out for the night, for all that all the lights were still on. Even in spite of the current “crisis,” the flurry of what must be panicked activity didn’t extend here. Sephiroth could hear a few interns and lab techs cloistered in side labs on this or that overnight project, but for the moment, the central tanks were monitored only by a collection of wall-mounted cameras that panned slowly back and forth.

 _I will_ _ **not**_ _be recorded like some test subject._ Simply destroying the cameras was an option, of course, but it would be noticed all too quickly. A bit of finesse was in order.

Each camera’s arc eventually took it off the center tank, even if there was always at least one with it in view. A dead video feed would set off alarms, but a feed that wasn't panning? Unless they’d found some way to drastically improve the morale and/or work ethic of the night shift, such a thing would likely go unnoticed until someone reviewed the recordings in the morning.

He waited as one camera panned away from the cetra girl’s tank, then wrapped his will around it and held firm. He didn’t relax his grip until the whine of a straining motor gave way to the acrid scent of a fried one. The other three followed in short order. Much better _. Not true privacy, perhaps, but that best that can be expected in_ _ **this**_ _place._

The Cetra girl was lying on the floor of her tank, where it looked like she had collapsed from exhaustion. She was half curled around herself, wrists crossed over each other and hands resting by her face. With her bracelets, it looked almost like she was wearing shackles.

He approached the center tank, stopping just within arm’s reach of it. “I imagine you’re rather pleased with yourself ... Aerith.”

Aerith's eyes blinked open. Her gaze focused on the pair of dark boots – and she realized there was a small gap of light between the soles and the floor.

 _This has to be a dream._ She rolled over to look up – and up – at Sephiroth. Her head was in a fog; she could barely think ... It took her a moment to realize she could hear music. Sephiroth’s music.

It was a theme she’d only heard once before, when he had been at his most malevolent. But it suppressed Jenova's unnatural resonance, which made it oddly comforting, for all its sinister nature.

She pushed herself off the floor, bracing herself on her arms. “Why, in the Goddess’ name, would you think that?” she asked muzzily. She was so tired, drained. She didn’t have the energy to put any thought into bite or sarcasm. It came out nothing more than an honest question. _What reason could I possibly have to find_ _ **anything**_ _pleasing here?_

He canted his head to the side. “You want me to spell it out, then?” He sounded ... puzzled, and a little put out. “I suppose I can indulge you.

“You won. Kept me guessing until the last minute – after, truly – and even managed to change the deal on me, for all you offered a fair price. I underestimated you, Aerith. Your cunning. Your will.” His lips curled, a lazy smile under predatory eyes. He took a step closer. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

She stared at him, then started to laugh, helpless and disbelieving. “I changed – oh Goddess; I didn’t even realize. Your question was, ‘What would you do to save _fifty_ thousand’ ...”

She put her hand to her face, covering her eyes as her breath hiccuped in a sob. She _couldn’t_ break down. _You’re already dispelling his illusions about your competence; do you want him to lose what respect for you he has left?_

It felt wrong to kneel before him. She tried to rise, but had to put out a hand to brace herself against the walls of the tank as her vision nearly went black. She rested her forehead against the glass as she recovered.

“You give me too much credit, Sephiroth. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t even remember what your original question _was_ ,” she admitted with sad irony. “I spent the whole night thinking in terms of sixty thousand.”

“Mm,” Sephiroth murmured neutrally. She looked helpless, collapsed at his feet. Broken.

He knew better.

“I appreciate your honesty... Although I had not thought you so proud as to mourn a serendipitous triumph.”

Her breath sputtered in another helpless laugh. “Triumph? How is _this_ ,” she gestured around her, “a triumph?” She looked up at him, face drawn and pale. “How many died? The Sector 7 plate – what happened? Please – no one will tell me anything.”

She was _begging._

Sephiroth tilted his head to the side, eyes going distant. “Reports ... are still coming in,” his voice was soft, halting. “Projections based on current figures ... roughly a thousand casualties in total. Forty to eighty fatalities, some estimates as high as twice that if tensions between Shinra and community relief forces worsen.” His eyes focused sharply on her. “Once the moorings were blown, this became the best possible outcome. Humans are so ... fragile.”

Aerith’s eyes closed. “Goddess ...” She sank back and her hands closed around each other in prayer. “I could have acted sooner ...” Her voice trembled. She shook her head, trying to hold back tears, wiping the back of one hand across her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “I shouldn’t – I know this isn’t ...” She took a shuddering breath. “I know you want to play with me right now, but I can’t. I just _can’t_.”

She covered her face with her hands. She couldn’t look at him, didn’t want to see a flash of triumph in his eyes like a predator scenting blood. He’d see vulnerability as nothing more than an opening – an _invitation_ – to pounce. _Tear me apart if you’re going to, just DO IT!_ “I suppose you think I’m weak now.”

“No.” He breathed the word quietly. “Not _here_.”

Aerith went still. She knew, she _knew_ when something very important had been said in her presence. “I don’t understand ... Aren’t you going to gloat? You were _right._ ”

“Of course I was.” His tone was coldly matter-of-fact. “For all your will, all your effort ... there was a hand on the scale. You and I were the only true variables in this equation. The only way to win the hand was to flip the table.”

“ _Did_ you?” She shook her head. “You ... must have, if the death count was so low. Goddess, ‘low’ ...” She looked up at him. “What do you _want_ from me? Why are you _here_?” Her breath caught as an answer came to her. “Oh ... your payment.”

She closed her eyes, trying to gather the tatters of her will to reach out to the planet.

“... I _can’t_.” The despair of it nearly bent her double; she couldn’t muster the strength to care what he thought about her any more. Would he fly into a rage? Would he try to take back his side of the deal? _The people of sector 7? Or sixty thousand, chosen at random?_ “This place, it’s nearly _dead,_ ” she pleaded with him, praying he’d believe her. “I’m not trying to hold back. I’m _trying._ ”

Sephiroth reached out, fingers splaying across the glass until his palm came to rest on it. The entire tank buzzed with a low hum, then went still. “I’m not surprised. You don’t _belong_ here.”

There it was again. That same sense she had just heard something _important_. She looked up at him, blinking. “Then ... why are you _here?_ ”

Sephiroth didn't respond, at first. Just as she began to think he wasn't going answer, “Because this is no place to be alone.”

_... Oh._

He _knew._ Better than anyone else, perhaps ... he _knew._

He nodded, once. “You got my message, I trust?”

“Your – oh, yes.” She scrabbled around in her pockets for the feather, before pulling it out and holding it up to show him. It didn’t seem _fair_ , she noted, that it should survive being palmed, shoved quickly into a pocket so scientists wouldn’t see it, drenched by a sterilizing shower, then remain stuck in a damp pocket for hours while she shifted around as she tried – and failed – to sleep, yet _still_ come out looking perfectly unruffled. _He has to be cheating somehow._

“I got it, although claiming I _understood_ the message might be going a bit too far.”

“Consider it a covenant. I have not forsaken you, nor will I.”

His voice grew thoughtful. “We could leave right now, if you like ... Not cleanly, of course. Nor quietly. They’re far more cautious, after the last escape ...”

Aerith’s breathing hitched and she shuddered, hunkering down at the vivid memories of that escape. Her arms wrapped around herself and tightened.

“Don’t worry,” his voice settled on her, warm and heavy, at odds with the cold calculus in his words. “I’d sooner take every other life in this building than risk yours on a haphazard extraction. No stray bullets, no distractions, no survivors to give chase.”

It was oddly sweet. Her breath still caught as the implications sank in. She looked up. “How many would die getting me out?”

He sighed. “More than you would accept, I suspect. Shinra never truly sleeps ...”

Her lip quirked. “I think you’re right again.”

She looked down at the feather, turning it over in her hand. “So ... what _is_ this? How does it ... work? I thought it was just a normal feather ... until I cried out your name.”

His lips curled upward. “I told you before that Jenova cells have an unparalleled ability to store and convey information. I’m... not certain how to explain to you how I perceive through an object with no sensory apparatus. Suffice to say that if you call my name, I will hear you.”

“Does it ... summon you? I mean ... can I just throw it down and you’ll appear, like a summon Materia?”

His head struck the glass, his shoulders shaking with inaudible laughter. “Of course not,” he finally got out. “I go where I will. So if you were hoping I was going to join you in that tank without setting off any alarms ... I’m afraid not.”

“It would have been nice,” she admitted before she’d realized the words slipped out. She felt herself starting to flush. _Thank you, brain; it’s been a while ..._ Since she’d already begun speaking, she pushed onward, her voice growing quieter. “I hope you won’t take this as an insult. But you’re seeming much less frightening in comparison, right now.” Her lip twitched. “It’s ... funny. I don’t know which is worse. The truly alien entity downstairs, or the totally human one who runs this floor.”

“The human.” His response was instantaneous – and utterly deadpan.

Aerith’s breath puffed out in a laugh. “I suppose so.” She looked down, taking a step back. “I admit, I had wondered about the feather.” She glanced upward at the ceiling of her enclosure. “It’s ... not easy being here. Any sort of company ... I suppose I can make do with it on the other side of the glass.”

“Twenty-four hours, little florist.” His smile was _unbearably_ smug.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then let it out. “What’s at the end of twenty-four hours?”

He spread his arms wide, eyes gleaming. “Deliverance.”

She gave another small laugh. “Is that so? ... Has anyone told you you’re _incredibly_ addicted to melodrama?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you destroy your feathers _just_ to put on an impressive show with smoke and throwing your voice?”

A silver brow arched over a hint of a smirk. “You have to admit, it made an impression. Tell me, did Tseng say anything? At all? For the rest of the flight?”

“Quite a few things. Not all of them in languages I understood.” Her voice went quiet. “Until we landed near my mother’s house to drop off Marlene ... The last thing he said to me was, ‘I'll keep my end of the bargain, but I have your word, Aerith. No more running.’ We didn't say anything at all after he came back.”

The memory brought home a stab of pain. Sephiroth’s mind, however, seemed once more to be running along tracks tangential to the typical human experience.

“And you kept your word ...” he mused. “That bodes well.”

“I suppose that _would_ be where your mind went.” Her voice carried a hint of dryness.

“You made no secret of your reluctance. Knowing you value your commitments _is_ a comfort.”

“Don’t worry.” She half turned away, clasping one wrist. “I surrendered myself to _Hojo_. I have no intention of backing out on _our_ deal.”

The air temperature took a nosedive, frost actually forming by his hand until he dropped it away from the tank. ‘Are you sure I can’t sell you on the ‘leap out the window, fling the building into orbit’ plan?”

Aerith swallowed, her breath misting the air. “Quite sure,” she managed. A pause. “ _Oh_ ... Not ... surrendering myself in that way ...” She gestured around the tank. “I just meant ... I ended up here.” Her voice dropped. “Which is within his power enough.” Her hands squeezed each other. “But that ... I’d rather die.”

“Hm.” The temperature slowly returned to normal as the ventilation system did its work. “You can safely consider me your ‘third option,’ then. I’ve no intention of giving him time to get used to your presence.”

“Trust me, you’re much preferable.” She chuckled. “I’ll freely admit, you still terrify me. But only in an existential sense.” Her lip twitched. “I suppose I don’t have to worry about what will happen if I end up at your mercy. You _always_ have more power than me. I could be in chains at your feet with your blade at my throat and _still_ feel less vulnerable than here ...” she gestured around her, “in this horrible, dehumanizing _cage_. To be reduced to some ... _thing_ to be broken down, taken apart, and made useful.”

“Hm.” He turned away, leaning back against the tank with a soft _thump_. “You have a keen understanding of this place.”

She regarded his back with surprise. She wouldn’t have expected that reaction. _Haven’t you been struggling with your lack of privacy? What is he giving you now?_ She hesitated, then turned and pressed her own back against the glass opposite his.

Sephiroth’s eyes scanned the ceiling. “I ... hate it.” He sounded vaguely surprised.

Aerith didn’t know what startled her more. The words, or the warmth slowly filtering through the glass. _Somehow, I always thought he’d be cold._

Focusing on his pain was terrifying and deeply unnerving – and infinitely preferable to focusing on her own.

Hurt demanded empathy. It was hard when the person denied they needed it. Harder still when they _truly_ didn’t deserve it – and by _any_ rational standard, he _was_ a monster. _But it’s not about what he deserves, is it?_

She wet her lips. _Don't look at him._ One hand pressed flat against the glass opposite his. The other hand squeezed the feather tight and brought it to her chest. “I hate it too.” Although she kept her voice low, enough passion slipped through to make it clear this was no platitude. _I hate this place_. “I don’t think I said it yet ... Thank you, for coming here. It wasn’t something you _had_ to do. So ... thank you for doing it. For me.”

She glanced down. “I do have just one question, though ...” She lightened her tone. “How did you get the feather _in_ here? _Please_ tell me you didn't just hand it to Reno and tell him, ‘Seriously, this’ll be great.’”

There was a pause. Sephiroth’s fingertips began to drum on the glass. “That ... _would_ have been amusing. I almost wish I had.

“Alas, nothing so clever. This building is guarded, in large part, by the ranks of SOLDIER. The Reunion instinct can be overpowering and Jenova’s tank is ... directly under you, as it happens. It was trivial to get a body into position; the only challenge was timing it after the last cleaning. He was sent home, of course. Dissociative episode and a migraine ... Nothing they haven’t seen before.”

Aerith laughed a little, then covered her mouth with her fingertips. “I shouldn’t find that funny. But I'm just imagining you carefully puppeteering the pieces into place ... so you could be _dramatic_.” She shook her head, the hidden white Materia clinking slightly against the glass. “I keep imagining you just ... sitting there, with a look of frustration, prodding some poor SOLDIER, going, ‘No, don’t go wandering off ... This is why they had to make clones of me, you know.’”

“You have _no idea._ ” An umbral chuckle drifted around the room. “It’s not that they’re difficult to control, but they require such micromanagement that it’s often better to just use shamblers. Apparently the Reunion instinct is no match for the siren song ... of chocobo racing.”

Aeirth had to quickly stuff the feather in the front of her dress so she could press both hands over her mouth to muffle the squeaking noises of laughter she made. Goddess, she hadn’t expected to truly laugh _here_. “But how could you underestimate chocobos, Sephiroth? They’re _so fluffy_!”

“They are also temperamental, stupid, and more dangerous than some 3rd-class soldiers. I believe that I underestimated not the chocobos themselves, but the kinship this particular puppet felt for the birds.”

“ _Fluffy_ , Sephiroth,” she insisted as if this were clearly the salient argument. Aerith frowned. “Wait, who was it who felt a kinship with chocobos?” There was a pause as she sifted through her memories. “Wait, WAIT.” She threw a reproachful look over her shoulder. “... Other-Aerith _liked_ the chocobos ...” she muttered, pouting.

“Ah but you are _free_ of her grasp. Free to be your own Aerith. Free to not waste my time with chocobo hunting, chocobo racing, or chocobo breeding.”

"But ... _fluffy_ , Sephiroth ...” She glanced back over her shoulder and smiled up at him. “Maybe we can compromise and just do a little chocobo petting?”

He took a deep breath, seemingly for no purpose beyond exhaling it in a long, aggrieved sigh.

She came to the realization his music had changed. She hadn’t noticed at first, because it had transitioned smoothly from that malevolent theme. Now, however, it was something entirely different. She could hear the same progression of notes as the spine-crawling music that had floated upwards from Jenova’s tank, but the tone was entirely different. The tempo was faster, with other musical elements weaving through the composition. Every once in a while, she thought she caught hints of the main piece she associated with Sephiroth moving through it, like he had coopted the music to be something his own. The overall result was almost ... peppy?

She squashed the thought. _Nothing_ about Sephiroth was _peppy._

But it certainly seemed a much more _cheerful_ arrangement than she’d been hearing. That must mean she was doing something right.

 _I’m glad you’re doing better._ Seeing someone else feel better made her feel just a little bit better herself.

“I don’t know, Sephiroth,” the florist teased him. “You might like the birds if you gave them a chance.”

He grunted. Good. She had taken up the sword. Her anguish had been ... bitter. Surprisingly unappealing. “I make no promises about _anything_ chocobo-related.”

“Then the thing I’ll take away from that is you haven’t said no!” She smiled sunnily up at him.

“Hope can be a powerful thing.”

“If you try to give me despair, I _will_ whine. And make sorrowful noises. And generally continue complying while making your life as uncomfortable as possible.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you implying I’ve been offering you despair for the better part of a week? Because I’m quite certain I was doing the opposite.”

“I have _not_ been whining and making sorrowful noises! ... Deliberately. With the intent to manipulate.”

“Which is fortunate; you would have been wasting your effort.”

“Oh, I don’t think you've witnessed the full power of my sad noises.” She held up her hand. “I promise to never use this great power for anything important.”

“Such forbearance.”

“I’m feeling magnanimous.”

“Which is remarkable in itself, all things considered.”

She tilted her head in acknowledgment. “I _may_ be not entirely in my right mind.”

“Mm.” One of the first problems he’d solved, upon his ascension. “The trick is to expand your mind until it encompasses wherever you are, now.”

Aerith blinked a couple of times. “Is that ... what it feels like for you? When you enter into a new body? Er, a different body?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. It’s more like...” his fingers drummed out a rapid beat on the glass. “I don’t know if you’ve ever owned leather gloves, but if it’s left alone for too long, leather gets stiff. The first thing you have to do when you put the gloves on is work them a bit, to make them pliable again. It’s much like that.” The experience was fresh in his mind; he’d had to undergo it only a few minutes ago.

“I have difficulty imagining.” She bent a little to brush off her skirts. “I have just one body and I like it just fine. And I’m in no particular hurry to become one with the Lifestream, just in case you were wondering.”

“Good. While you would no doubt gain far greater understanding of the Planet's knowledge, actually communicating it to me would become impossible. And I would _so_ miss our little talks.”

She laughed, a flash of warmth in the sterile air. “Would you now?” He could practically _hear_ her cheeky smile. “Well, I suppose I’d miss not being able to spar with you a _little_.”

“Good.” Hardly crucial in the long run, he reflected, but it was good to know. She’d be easier to work with if she saw herself as a willing cohort rather than an obligated prisoner. If all it took to affect that change in outlook was mutually stimulating interaction, so much the better. A thought to pursue, later. For now ... mortals were _so_ inconveniently fragile.

“Aerith ...” his voice dropped to a soft purr. “How long has it been since you slept?”

There was a moment’s pause, followed by a soft rustle. “Slept, or truly slept? I’ll admit, I’ve collapsed from exhaustion a few times – usually to be woken by nightmares. This place ...” She shivered. “There’s enough to be frightened of, it’s hard to stay asleep for long.”

“You will need your strength; that which lies ahead is not yet written.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She slid down the glass until she was sitting once more. “For good or ill.” She shook her head. “Of course, actually _sleeping_ is still going to be difficult. Not everything responds to reason or rationality, you know.”

“Would you believe Sleep is one of the spells I never bothered to master? I couldn’t envision a need for it.” He chuckled. “You will just have to do your best, I suppose.” His back firm against the glass, he slid to the floor, his eyes still turned heavensward as he gazed through the ceiling towards the stars above. “If you can sleep here, I assure you, you’ll be able to fall asleep _anywhere_.”

Aerith’s eyes were turned downward, gazing through the floor towards the earth below. “I suppose that's true.”

Her breath stirred the feather as she bowed her head. He felt the warmth of her chest rise and fall as her breathing slowed and finally began to even out.

It made sense to leave now. Nothing further to say and little return for the risk of being spotted.

Still.

He didn’t actually need _this_ body in action yet. Taking it out of the lab just made it that much more likely for someone to notice it was missing from its tank.

He should return it now; no reason to take chances.

He didn’t move.

He attuned his senses to the little constants of the lab: the soft whirr of the air conditioning, the acrid tang of disinfectant, the low buzz of CPU fans. The cetra girl’s quiet, even breathing. At the slightest change, he could have this body down the hall and into the elevator. Getting it back into its tank without being spotted would be child’s play.

He sat and listened to the room.


	16. Etudes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An etude - literally, “study” - is a musical piece written for the purpose of practicing or displaying technique. Unlike a toccata, an etude generally involves navigating tricky technical hurdles and is almost always for a solo instrument. Etudes, therefore, would be a set of multiple such pieces, performed back-to-back.

Barret woke up first out of the group he resolutely continued to label Avalanche. _‘Avalanche & Merc’ just don’t have the same ring to it._ _Besides, unless Tifa’s worked out a deal I don’t know about, he stopped working for pay a while ago. Boy’s a bit of a sullen ass, but he’s alright._

He was also something of a late sleeper – or else he’d stayed up too late, despite what Barret had warned. _Kids._ He resolutely ignored the fact that Cloud was at least twenty years old. _Still a kid. They’re all kids; kids are doing everything these days._

Feeling old and grumpy, he descended the stairs as softly as his heavy boots could take him, trying not to wake Marlene.

Mrs. Gainsborough was already in the kitchen, bustling about making breakfast. “Good morning – although I guess I should say ‘good afternoon.’ Coffee, tea, or cocoa?”

“Coffee is fine.” He waved a large hand. “Don’t worry about making it too fancy on my account. I used to be a coal miner; way you used to tell coffee was done was stick a railroad spike in it. If it stood up straight, coffee was done.”

“Gracious. Well, I’m afraid I can’t manage something quite _that_ strong,” Elmyra said with a smile. “But I’ll see what I can do.” She set a kettle on to boil. “Reminds me a bit of some of the stories my husband used to tell. How do you make a meal using a ration of army-provided dried meat?”

“How?” Barret took a seat at the kitchen table.

“Well, way he told it to me, first you take a boot.”

“A boot? Heh, think I heard this one. Go on ...”

“Well, you take a boot and the meat ration, then throw them both in a big pot of boiling water. You cook them both until the boot is nice and tender ... then you throw away the ration and eat the boot.”

“Hah! Yeah, we had similar recipes,” he chuckled, then frowned down through his plate as Elmyra set a stack of pancakes in front of him. “Glad Marlene can grow up knowing something better.”

“She seems like a sweet child.”

“She’s my little angel. Don’t know how she turned out so good, truthfully ... Sometimes I think it must be Tifa’s doing.” He picked up his fork and began dividing his pancakes into smaller pieces one-handed. “Sometimes I feel like I’m away so much ... Like I’m just a treat she gets on special occasions instead of her real dad ... But there’s so much I gotta do. The world won’t be _safe_ for her to grow up in if someone doesn’t do something ... And no one’s doing it. So I gotta.”

“That sounds like a nasty vice to have squeezing you. I can’t imagine. I was lucky.”

“Heh,” Barret chuckled. “No ... you just made the other choice. Stay here, in your quiet little house – was that a _waterfall_ I saw? _Beautiful_ place. You chose to make a wonderful, happy home for your daughter instead of do something about the world. Tell the truth, I don’t really blame you. I’d do _anything_ for my little girl. I know you’d do the same.”

Elmyra was silent, looking down at her skillet and the slowly cooking eggs.

Barret leaned forward. “Mrs. Gainsborough ... We’re planning on mounting a rescue for your daughter.”

Elmyra’s eyes snapped up. “No!” The word was half choked as it burst out of her. She recovered with a shaky breath, but her words were still unsteady as she tried to get them out more calmly. “Aerith’s mother _died_ in an escape attempt. Shinra values Aerith; they won’t hurt her. Even if they did take her away ... I’m sure she’s being treated like a guest – and they’ll send her straight back home once they get what they need.”

“ _Hrrn_.” Barret’s hand tightened into a fist. “ _Lady –_ ” He stopped himself and forced his fingers to uncurl. With a deep sigh, he sat back and pushed up his shades, massaging the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “I get it. You’re hoping if you don’t do anything wrong, you won’t have anything to fear. That’s how the system’s supposed to work, right? Except ... it _doesn’t._ You can do everything right ... and they’ll _still_ screw you.”

Barret’s eyes flicked around, even though he knew the only people in this house were folks who could either be trusted or were already in the know. He lowered his voice, just to be sure. “I’m gonna tell you something you ain’t gonna learn from the news. If you haven’t already, pretty soon you’re gonna start hearin’ reports that it was ‘the terrorist group: Avalanche’ who blew up the Sector 7 support pillar. It wasn’t. I was _there._ ” He placed his gun-arm on the table. “We were _fighting_ to protect that pillar. And I _saw_ , with my own two eyes, a Turk push the button to decouple the plate. Because the Sector 7 slums housed Avalanche and Shinra wanted a catastrophe they could _use_.”

Somewhere during his speech, his hand had curled back into a ball, so tight it was shaking. “They would have killed _everyone_ , if it hadn’t been for a literal damn miracle. My little girl was in the slums. If it hadn’t been for Aerith ...” He drew in a shuddering breath. “But that’s ... not actually my point.”

He slid his gun-arm back down to his side; he knew having it out could come off as threatening to some people. In an effort to be less imposing, he leaned his other elbow on the table more casually. “Here’s the thing; they had Shinra employee housing on the Sector 7 plate. Being willing to crush everyone in the slums? We’ve known for ages shit rolls downhill; they don’t care about folks like us as _people_. But they were willing to kill _their own_ people to get what they want. I was willing to fight because people are _people_ and we all _deserve_ protecting. But this is further proof it don’t matter HOW much you play by the rules. You can do everything you’re supposed to ... and it _will not keep your family safe._

“Mrs. Gainsborough ... I don’t want to shatter your illusions. I’m sure they’re a great comfort to you right now when you’re sitting here, not sure what you _can_ do ... But people like that, they aren’t gonna treat your daughter right. You raised someone who was good and kind enough to run into fire to save a _stranger’s_ little girl – and they are gonna _eat her alive_ in that place. I don’t wanna see that happen to the woman who saved my Marlene. So _please_. You don’t wanna be in a situation where you had a chance for something to be done ... and you find out later you should’ve taken it.”

Elmyra was silent a long time. “A deal, then.” She took the skillet off the burner and turned to him. “Someone needs to fight our battles and someone needs to care for our children. I’ll look after your daughter ... just _bring mine back to me_.”

Barret solemnly put his fist to his chest. “I’ll do my best. You have my word.” He glanced back in the direction of the stairs. “About Jessie ...”

Elmyra gave him a Look. “You don’t think I’ll turn a critically wounded person out on the street, do you?” Her gaze drifted in the direction of the window. “I knew, the moment I learned about Sector 7, the aftermath was going to be hell ... Possibly even worse than after that accident that dropped the plate in Sector 6. Fewer dead – and I think we can all agree that’s the most important thing to be thankful for ... but that also means a lot more living people to become refugees. Anyone who can do something _should_ in a time like this.”

“ _Hrn._ ” Barret rested his elbows on his knees and shook his head. “ ‘Someone needs to fight our battles’ ... Honestly, what you’re doing seems just as important right now. Thank you. I hope nothing bad comes of this.”

“You mean from having a wanted terrorist asleep in my bedroom?” She laughed a little as she saw his face. “I can put two and two together. You’ve been dropping a lot more hints than I think you realize.”

“Hrn ... That’s not terribly comforting.”

“You didn’t choose the path of comfort.” Her own voice grew quieter. “Your path has lead to a lot of people being hurt, you know. Even before last night.”

“I know ...”

“You’re focused on tearing down the old world.” She nodded at his gun arm. “Are you sure the world you’ll build with that is going to be any better?”

“I don’t know ...” Barret rubbed his eyes. “I don’t have all the answers ... But I gotta do _something_ ... Heh, maybe it’s for the best folks like you are around.” He lifted his right arm. “This is how we're gonna tear down what's wrong in the world ... but someone’s gotta be there to take care of the aftermath when the dust settles. I’m just a part of the solution, not the whole thing.”

“How many are going to be lost in your fight, Mr. Wallace?”

“I’m not sure ... How many are going to be lost if I don’t fight?”

“I guess we can never know which will be worse; we just have to make our choice and look after our children the best we can.” Elmyra inclined her head. “Maybe I’m too weak to stick to my principles, then ... Because I still want you to save my daughter.”

Barret shook his head. “Principles aren’t any good if they get in the way of doing right. That make sense?”

“Makes sense ... Just like the principle of ‘saving the world is good’ shouldn’t get in the way of caring about individual lives, hm?”

“Heh ... I’ll keep doing what I can, the best I can. And I’ll try to hurt the least number of people possible.”

Elmyra nodded at him. “Then maybe there’s hope for the two of us yet.” Her lip quirked in a sad smile. “We learn the hard way so our children don’t have to. That’s the hope. I just hope it’s not too late.”

“I’ll be doing my level best to see that it isn’t.”

They both glanced up as they heard the sounds of movement and low-voiced conversations upstairs.

“ _Finally_ ,” Barret muttered. “Lazy-ass kids ...”

“The blond one _does_ remind me of an overgrown teenager at times ...”

“Hah! Don’t know what I’ll do when Marlene gets that age, though ... It’s all gonna be slamming doors and mixing with boys I just _know_ ain’t gonna be worthy of her.”

“Oh, we all muddle through it somehow. I should tell you some stories sometime.”

“Heh, I’d appreciate it.”

Elmyra began to pour more coffee as the rest of Avalanche began to trickle downstairs.

* * *

A stool had been cycled into Aerith’s holding tank. Hojo had _kindly_ tapped out the command as soon as he’d entered the room. _Of course. I get to be a human for a little while when he’s here._ She had no doubt the stool would be taken away again once he left.

Hojo graced her with what she fervently believed he thought was his least creepy of smiles. “Aerith ... I am SO glad to see you’ve been taking _care_ of yourself. Things have been SO _hectic_ , we haven’t really had time to sit down and chat since you _returned_ to us, have we? Ah, _conversation_ ... The exchange of data by rational beings ...” He clasped his hands together. “I wish all exchanges could be handled so _cleanly_. Surely _you_ must recognize the value of proper data, my dear ...”

Hojo folded his arms across his chest. “So,” he said invitingly. “Let us talk about Sephiroth ....”

Aerith didn’t answer; all she gave him was a level stare. She knew enough about interrogations to recognize this for what it was. He was building rapport, establishing a theme. Given all he had said to her earlier, she could guess what it would be. _“I care about you. I value you. I am the only one who truly sees your worth in this place.”_

 _Give him_ _ **nothing.**_ _He’s sniffing for something he can use._ She was reminded of those films where captured troops were always told to only give their name, rank, and identification number. _He’ll seize on_ _ **anything**_ _you say. Don’t react at all._

“ _I_ could talk about Sephiroth _exhaustively_ ,” Hojo wheedled, “but that would _hardly_ tell us anything we don’t already know ... It’s clear you have some connection; the video feed from the helicopter confirms that much. What is there to _gain_ from pretending ignorance?”

Aerith maintained her level gaze.

“Come now, Aerith ... You misunderstand my intentions! I don’t _disapprove_ of any sort of relationship between you. I wish merely to _understand_ the FASCINATING circumstances of his survival and return!”

Silence.

“Hmm ...” Hojo put a hand to his chin, taking in her continued stillness and lack of response. “... You’re the spitting image of her now,” he murmured, trying another tack.

Aerith’s head moved slightly at the mental whiplash of this conversational turn. _What?_

Hojo shook his head. “I regret it to this day ... If she had only _trusted_ me instead of trying to run, it could have turned out quite differently. Such a terrible tragedy,” he sighed with seeming genuine regret, “to lose the last of the pureblooded Ancients.”

_‘Differently,’ I’m sure. But not ‘better.’_

Still ... bringing up her mother triggered a twinge of sorrow – and the way he did it, an added stab of pain. Aerith loved Elmyra ... and she missed Ifalna. There had never been any inherent contradiction to her. Elmyra had been the one who had been _there._ Through all the scraped knees, bouts of panic, youthful crushes, and all the arguments they had somehow managed to weather. Ifalna was almost this larger than life figure. Aerith remembered someone warm, kind, and nurturing, who had stood as a shield to take on the brunt of anything scary so her daughter didn’t have to. A hero, part of Aerith knew, whom no flesh and blood woman could ever measure up to.

And, of course, last of the pureblooded Cetra.

 _It always comes down to that,_ she thought with a touch of bitterness.

There was always just this _small_ tinge of doubt. The _possibility_ that maybe, maybe Aerith wasn’t just remembering her birth mother through a child’s uncomplicated eyes. Maybe she _was_ so much better, because she had been something _else._ Something _purer._

The word itched at Aerith’s consciousness. Purity. A word that encompassed two meanings. It meant something undiluted, but it also meant something _virtuous._ She _hated_ the association. _Because if it’s true, I will always be_ _ **lesser**_ _. Whatever I do, there was always someone else who could have done it better._

It was a double-edged sword. Special enough to have all the downsides of being different, but with all the benefits tainted by the knowledge she was only ever considered the default choice. _I want my mother. Not some kind of angel._

She had no idea what Hojo made of the muddle of emotions that must have shown on her face. He seemed to have been caught up in his own little world, his thoughts dwelling on the loss of Ifalna.. “... Though not completely,” he added unexpectedly. “Tell me, would you like to _see_ your mother?”

Aerith’s eyes widened in a moment of shock, then narrowed as her mind caught up with her. No, Ifalna couldn’t – she _couldn’t_ be alive.

Hojo smiled with the air of someone offering a _wonderful_ treat. “... Albeit through the lense of one of my _microscopes_.”

Aerith’s mind went _blank._

His leering face seemed to swim large before her eyes, laughing at her naivete. “Did you _really_ think we’d leave such a precious specimen to _rot_ in the gutter? We collected and catalogued every last bit of her!” Hojo’s fingers coiled around each other. “Hair, skin, organs, every fragment of every bone ...” His eyes lifted skyward as if remembering a transcendent miracle. “ _As breathtaking in death as in life!_ ” Aerith nearly recoiled as his palms struck the side of the tank. “As YOU, my dear! Ifalna was elegance, right down to her _cellular. structure_.”

He was a horror. Aerith didn’t know what was worse. The monstrous suggestion that she would like seeing her _mother_ in pieces ... or the absolute sincerity in his eyes. _He believes it. He really believes this is an offer that shows that he cares. Oh Goddess ..._

He was her antithesis. Both pursued understanding, but Aerith sought it through empathy, a knowing born of _connection_. Hojo sought to understand by taking things apart and by mashing things together, watching the outcome with a cold detachment from the lives he flayed away in his morbid fascination to see what happened. _With all that I am, I_ _ **loathe**_ _you._

Hojo seemed to regain something of a hold of himself. As Aerith remained frozen, struck immobile with shock and revulsion, the man pulled away, chuckling self-deprecatingly to himself. “And there it is ...” he gestured to Aerith’s still form, “that same _elegance._ That same ... where did you get that feather?”

His eyes were on her chest. Not with any sort of lust; their gaze was too singularly focused on the object of his attention to take in any surroundings.

Aerith slowly began to smile. Her lips parted and, for the first time, she broke her silence. “You have my mother. I have your _son._ ”

Hojo’s breath sucked in sharply. Now it was his turn to stand frozen. “Aerith,” he said as he attempted to recover his somewhat friendly demeanor. “That information is classified. _How_ do _you_ know it?”

Aerith didn’t answer. Aerith's only answer was an enigmatic smile, now settled firmly on her lips.

His palms hit the glass again, but now he was a petitioner at the gates, not a wolf at the door. “Does _he_ know?”

Aerith just smiled.

His fingers curled on the glass, as if he were trying to reach out and grab. “What _is_ that fascinating pinion-shaped specimen? Tell me, Aerith ...” he demanded, a warning edge in his voice.

Aerith’s smile widened.

“ _Fine._ ” Hojo went to the tank controls. “Detailed examination is so much more rewarding anyway. I can just administer an aerosolized sedative and _take_ it.”

“Go ahead,” Aerith told him as his hand hovered over the button. She tilted her head and beamed. “It’ll dissolve a moment before your hand touches it.”

Hojo’s fingers twitched, curled, and uncurled. “Tweezers, then.”

She laughed aloud. “Do you _really_ think this is the sort of thing you can work your way around on a technicality?”

Hojo’s hand was now curled tightly into a fist. “Aerith ...”

“He’s _listening_ , Hojo,” she taunted him, “and he’s _not happy_ with you.” It irked her to have to lean on someone else’s power in this battle of wills. _What was that thing Tifa quoted for me in the sewers? “One of the most valuable skills you can develop is just the instinct_ _ **to**_ _fight ... with whatever tools are available.”_

“Ridiculous,” Hojo snapped, clearly out of sorts. “I _made_ him. If he’s a little bit put out of sorts by my methods, clearly he hasn’t been applying the proper _rigor_ to his _analysis_.”

 _Interesting. The thing he immediately objected to_ _**wasn’t** _ _the idea that Sephiroth could be listening._

“I think a part of you knows that’s not true ... I think that’s why you never told him you sired him.” She _would not_ call this creature Sephiroth’s father. _You may have done more of a job of shaping him and raising him into the man he is than you realize. But you forfeited the right to be called anything like a ‘dad’ ages ago._

Ruthlessly, Aerith called on the memories of that other world. “ ‘What will Sephiroth think when he finds out I’m his father? Always looking down on me like that ...’ ”

It worked. She saw Hojo’s head snap back as she brought to light phrasing that, at this point, could only exist in his head.

Aerith’s lips curled upward in an expression that held no trace of warmth. “It’s better to have that little bit of uncertainty, isn’t it? To stand aloof and tell yourself, ‘He’d hate me if he knew,’ and convince yourself you’re prepared for the possibility ... But always, there’s just this little bit of distance, just this little bit of chance it _might not_ be true. Because that’s a parent’s worst fear, isn’t it? To have a child who _hates_ you? After all, Hojo ...” her teeth flashed in a smile as white and cold as the northern glaciers, “you _care._ ”

“We’re _done_ here,” Hojo snapped. “I can see you’re not in a mood to be _useful_.” He recovered his composure slightly and shook his head. “So _disappointing_ ...”

“Enjoy your nightmares, Hojo!” she called after him as he started to retreat the room. “I can think of no one more deserving of nightmares than _you._ ”

* * *

The streets of Wall Market were even more crowded than the last time Tifa had seen them. _Did I really just ride in on a chocobo carriage_ _ **last night**_ _?_ There was no way a carriage could make its way through the throngs of people with shell-shocked eyes now.

As they mounted the steps of Corneo’s mansion, a man with a large bruise on his face moved to bar their way. “Hey! You can’t just walk in –” He stopped dead when he saw Tifa. “Oh no. Oh no, nope, nope, _yeeeeeeaaaaaaa!_ ” He bolted, dropping his weapon: a bat with several nails hammered into it.

“Friend of yours?” Biggs asked dryly.

“I _think_ I kicked him in the jaw.”

“Sounds like a fun night.”

Avalanche had departed from Elmyra’s house in the late afternoon. To Tifa’s great relief, Aerith’s mother had agreed to look after Marlene and Jessie nearly before she’d asked, almost like she’d been planning to do so already.

Marco had been the concerning case. Sometime while they had all been sleeping, he had gotten up and wandered off. “If he did ‘wander off,’” Cloud had muttered darkly.

Part of Tifa had wanted to try to search for him. Part of her wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. In the end, she had capitulated to Cloud’s insistence that getting a move on saving Aerith was their highest priority. Besides, Marco only _might_ end up in dire straits; Aerith already _had_.

Cloud was now examining the discarded nailbat. He picked it up, swung it a few times, then gave an intrigued sounding grunt.

“Don’t you already have a weapon?” Tifa asked him.

“Yes, but ...”

“Come on,” said Biggs, “you _can’t_ tell me that a bat with some nails in it is better than a giant steel sword.”

“Most of the time, no ... except when facing that Turk. You remember how he locked down the buster sword with an electromagnet? Hard to magnetize wood.”

“It still has the nails in it,” Biggs pointed out.

“Still,” Cloud said firmly, slinging the nailbat over his shoulder and slotting it into one of the rings in the weapons harness across his back. “Less of a problem than the sword. We’re ultimately going into Shinra HQ; it’s good to be prepared.”

“You just think the nailbat is cool,” Tifa teased him with a small grin.

“Well ...” Cloud shrugged, faintly embarrassed. “ _Nailbat._ ”

As they entered through the front door, they passed the owner of the chocobo carriages exiting from the other direction. Chocobo Sam, as he was called, touched the brim of his hat briefly. “Well,” he said in his gravelly drawl. “Didn’t expect to see you back here.”

“We need to see Corneo,” said Tifa.

“Now ... That’s going to be a bit of a problem.”

Cloud’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not taking ‘we need an invitation’ for an answer this time.” He gestured in the direction of Barret’s hulking form with his intimidating prosthetic, plus the added backup of the clearly armed Biggs and Wedge.

“Not quite what I meant. Corneo’s dead.”

“What?” Tifa gasped.

“Ayup. Apparently, some silver-haired fellow – not our Leslie – slaughtered his way through the mansion and fed Corneo to his own pet monster.”

Cloud stiffened. “ _Sephiroth_.”

“I don’t rightly know. There’s all sorts of strange rumors goin’ around right now. All I know is, new Don’s been busy as hell handlin’ the crisis in Sector 7. It’ll probably be a while until that mess is sorted.”

“Who’s the new Don?” Tifa asked.

“Didn’t I mention? Our own good Mr. Kyle.”

“What? Not one of the Triad?”

Chocobo Sam grinned at her. “He’s done a pretty good job of puttin’ the Triad in his pocket. I’m not as put out about it as you might think. Three of us had a nice little balance of power; if one of us rose up to take the seat, mmn ... there’d be a civil war of sorts, I bet. This way, order is restored while certain ... egregious policies get revoked.” He touched the brim of his hat toward Tifa. “Sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be givin’ any more free rides to the mansion to pretty young ladies for a while. Or pretty young men,” he added to Cloud. “Just in case you were wondering.”

“Wasn’t interested,” Cloud said shortly.

“Besides.” Biggs tapped on his own chest with a grin. “I think we can all agree I’m _much_ prettier than he is.”

“I dunno ...” Tifa murmured. She bit her tongue on mentioning Cloud in the dress; that was the sort of thing where it should be _his_ decision to talk about or keep quiet.

“Not my place to judge such things,” said Chocobo Sam. “That would be Andrea’s job.” He stepped out of the way and gestured into the mansion. “Go ahead ... Although I warn you: Mr. Kyle might be right in the middle of resolving a little ... discipline problem.”

* * *

Leslie paced at the forefront of a little tableau. Around him were about half a dozen of Corneo’s men. _Not_ _ **my**_ _men, not yet._ Half the point of this little demonstration was to change that.

Three of those men were before him, one on his knees, being held there by a man at each shoulder.

Leslie paced slowly back and forth in front of him. Having seen his genesis now, he tried to channel some of that same dangerous languidity into his movements, graceful and deadly as a great cat. He was holding his pistol in his right hand; in his left, he had taken to carrying a long, single edged knife.

“Did I stutter?” He said aloud, not just to the kneeling figure; he had his voice pitched to carry throughout the room. “Mumble? Was I in any way unclear? Amnesty for _past actions_. Doesn’t mean you get to ignore the new rules. Doesn’t mean you get to damage my brand just because you thought some topsider girl wasn’t ‘suitably grateful’ for our efforts!”

The man spat on the ground. “Fuck you, man. Why do you get to make the rules; you’re just one of us! You think just because you were Corneo’s pretty-boy, that gives you the right to boss us around?”

Leslie leaned down to stare him in the eyes. “If you think that’s what’s going on, you haven’t been paying attention.” He straightened once more and raised his voice. “ _Protection._ That’s what this enterprise promised people in the Sector all those years ago. Protection for you,” he gestured to the men, “protection for your families, protection for _anybody_ who paid up and bought in. Think of it like ...” he spread his arms, playing for the room with a smile, “taxes.”

There was series of hoots and laughter as the men ate it up. “ _Corneo_ got greedy and forgot his roots,” Leslie continued, silencing them with a slashing look designed to cut the legs out from under them. His lips curled. “No, not greedy. _Gluttonous._ ” He slapped his belly with the hilt of his knife. “You think _this_ made him a glutton? No. No, it was _power_ where he gorged himself. The perks are sweeter than the finest cake, aren’t they?” He encompassed the entirety of the room as he turned in place with arms spread wide. “He guzzled down every lavish scrap he could fit into his life, never minding that he was eating away at his own foundations. You all,” he extended his hand to the men, “are the victims of his excess. So I’m inclined to be merciful.”

His voice went cold. “But the days of excess are over; these are hungry times. We have _one_ message that brings people flocking to our banner, _one_ goal that makes us strong. _Protection_. If you become a threat to that goal ... well then.” Leslie channeled _all_ of Sephiroth into a single, cold smirk. “You’re _my_ problem. Stand up.”

The men at each shoulder backed away, allowing their kneeling former-compatriot to rise. The man pushed himself to his feet ... then went for the gun in the back of his waistband.

Time didn’t slow. Leslie had never known where that turn of phrase came from. Like always, he simply had all the time he needed ... The knife came up, flipping over to a reverse grip. He parried the arm holding the gun with his forearm, sinking the blade through muscles and blood vessels alike until it caught against bone. The man opened his mouth in the beginnings of a shriek; he would never have full functionality in that hand again even if he did survive.

He wouldn’t. Leslie stepped in, forcing the gun further up and out, and pressed his own pistol to the hollow of the man’s throat. The resulting blast nearly decapitated the man. Leslie gave the body a little shove; by the time it hit the ground, he had turned away from it to regard the remaining men. “Clean up this _mess_ ,” he ordered. “And make sure the word gets around what happened here.”

He channeled all his remaining steel into his gaze and transfixed those still standing. “I’ll say this once more for the people in the back. If you don’t like the new direction of this organization, you can leave now. But as long as you’re in my territory, my rules still apply. You don’t get to form your own little fiefdoms within my kingdom.”

He flicked his eyes away, turning to face the far wall. Released from his gaze, the remaining men sprang into action, rolling the body in the rug it had landed on and dragging both out of the room. As soon as he heard the door swing shut, he pressed the pommel of the knife to his forehead. There was still blood on the blade. _Goddess ..._

He was glad the man had attacked him. It allowed him to react, to have the whole thing over and done with before conscious thought could catch up to him. Executions, the killing of someone in cold blood, were so ... chilling. He had committed himself to it before the man had been dragged into the room; anything after that point was just ... a kindness. A balm that made the job easier to carry out. _I wonder if facing a fight at the pillar made it easier for those Shinra bastards, too. May they rot in hell._

He was startled out of his thoughts by an accusatory cry. “You _murdered_ him!”

Leslie wheeled about. Somehow, five people had managed to slip their way inside; they must have been coming in just as the corpse was being dragged out. His momentary burst of panic at potentially having been seen in a moment of vulnerability was quelled when he saw who it was. The raven haired girl, Tifa, was staring at him with a look of horror and outrage, barely held back by a hand on her arm.

Leslie let out his breath. “Executed. There’s a difference.” He moved to have a seat on one of the low steps, resting his elbows on his knees for a moment to put his head down. The bloody knife dropped to the floor at his feet. “He was supposed to be aiding the relief efforts and instead he raped a girl he was supposed to help. It was proportional response.” He lifted his eyes to her. “Surely _you_ understand ...”

“Understand.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “How am I supposed to understand _anything_? You ‘executed’ that man for rape, yet I passed by men in your _service_ who were all too eager to gang-rape _me_ less than a day ago! What the _hell_ , Leslie?”

Leslie’s fist struck the top of one stair, splintering the veneer on the wood. “You think I don’t want to do _something?_ But I _can’t_ inaugurate my assumption of power with a purge; there would be civil war. I _can’t have that_ right now. I _have_ to issue a blanket pardon to everyone in the organization. If they cross the line again, I’ll make an example of them – and a vivid one, so others get the message. But that’s _all I can do._ ” He shook his head. “It’s not _right._ It’s not _just._ But it’s what I _have_ to do.”

“Why?” she demanded. “If Corneo’s dead,” her breath hitched slightly at the word, “you have a chance to move on. Do _anything_ else. You don’t have to resort to this!”

He shook his head. “I can’t give up the power, not yet.”

“Is that what this is about? _Power?_ ”

“No, it’s about using the power to _get things done!_ ” Leslie realized he was yelling. He holstered his pistol and took a moment to rub his itching eyes. “There’s _so much_ I need to do ... Both for myself and for everyone else ...”

He hesitated, then reached inside his shirt. From an inner pocket, he pulled a golden pendant of a lily – a lady’s pendant. “Know how you volunteered to be one of Corneo’s brides? Not everyone he got his mitts on did. My fiancee was _chosen_.” He lifted the pendant. “I gave this to her. She gave it back to me right before the audition ... I never saw her again. I only _just_ learned it wasn’t Corneo that made her disappear. He had _no_ idea where she was. She’s in hiding somewhere, waiting for me.” He shook his head sharply. “And all this time, I _missed_ it.” He looked up at them. “Don’t you see? I can’t just go wandering the world, hoping that _fate_ will step in with some magical contrivance to ensure we meet again. I _need_ the resources of this organization if I’m going to find her.”

He held up the slim golden chain before his eyes, gazing at the pendant. “It’s also not just about me ...” He lowered his hand. “There are _thousands_ of displaced people right now. _Someone_ needs to do _something._ If it was just one thing or the other, I’d quit, let one of the triad take charge. But if I do _that,_ the other two wouldn’t stand for it. The organization would tear itself apart. All that time and all those resources spent fighting each other while there are people who need help _now_ – and I _still_ won’t be one step closer to finding Merle.”

“You don’t have to be a _crime lord_ to help people.”

“Then _give me something better!_ ” He looked up at her. “Do you know why organizations like this get their start? Because people need help and the legitimate authority is doing _nothing_. Who are they going to turn to? Shinra? Shinra doesn’t care about them! Shinra might just _kill_ them once they’ve attracted their attention!

“I know this isn’t my good ending. I don’t _want_ this to be my path. I _know_ that, whatever my intentions, the next guy who comes along might be just as corrupt as Corneo. But I don’t know what else to do to help people _now –_ and if I wait to do it _right,_ it’s going to be too late for the people who died.”

Tifa opened her mouth again to argue, but a large hand closed over her shoulder. The hulking man with a gun for an arm nodded to Leslie, solemnly. “We get it. When you’re stripped of good options ... all that’s left is a whole lot of bad ones. Not sure I agree with your choices ... but I can sure as hell understand them.” He stepped forward and held out his working hand. “Barret Wallace. We talked on the phone.”

Leslie pushed himself to his feet as his mind worked. That voice ... Seventh Heaven. The father. He clasped the hand without hesitation. “Leslie Kyle. I’m glad you made it through the night. Your little girl okay?”

“She made it through alright. Heh ... Should I call you ‘Don Kyle’ now?”

“I prefer ‘Mr. Kyle,’ in public. Steers clear of unpleasant associations.”

“Hah!” Barret stepped back. “These are some of my people. Biggs, Wedge ... Cloud, you’ve already met.”

When Leslie glanced at the mercenary, he felt a quiet, internal tug.

Leslie’s eyes widened. “ _Oh_ ... Oh, I didn’t ... really register that before ... Before I saw _Him_... I didn’t know what that feeling _was ..._ ” He shook his head, putting his palm to his forehead with a laugh. “I suppose I should apologize.” He held out his left hand. “What number were you ... brother?”

* * *

“Huh?” Cloud stared at Leslie.

 _‘Now you see, we had this entire conversation about saying “huh,”’_ Zack said with a sigh. _‘Although I suppose going ‘yo!’ doesn’t really make sense here ... And you are kinda clueless at the moment ... so nevermind!’_

 _**Thanks** _ _, Zack._

 _‘No problem, buddy!’_ Zack said cheerfully, the sarcasm seeming to fly so far over his head, it was in danger of hitting the upper plate. _‘Sector 6 doesn’t have an upper plate,’_ Zack reminded him. _‘Don’t be insensitive. Also: ow!’_

“Your _brother?_ ” Wedge looked back and forth between Cloud and Leslie. “D’aww! I didn’t know you had a brother!”

“He doesn’t.” Tifa’s arms wrapped around her abdomen. “... Right?”

Cloud blinked, confused. He didn’t _like_ the uncertain, almost frightened tone in her voice.

Leslie shook his head. “Well, not _literal_ brother. But we share cells, unless I miss my guess, and we have the same progenitor. So it seemed like the best word for it.” His lip curled. “Better than ‘fellow Shinra lab rat.’” He paused, then chuckled and put his hand to his face. “I guess I don’t need these around you, huh?” Before Cloud could ask what he was talking about,he popped out a set of contacts and looked at Cloud through luminous eyes.

Cloud’s eyes widened, then he clutched his head. _Sephiroth. White hair, glowing eyes –_

No, wait. The eyes staring back at him had _round_ pupils, not slitted ones. His fingers curled in his hair as more flashes hit him, things he didn’t understand. _Tank. Chemical stink. Blinking lights._

_What? What? What?_

_‘Well,’_ he heard Zack prodding him gently. _‘You COULD continue to live in ignorance ... Or you could_ _ **ask him**_ _. With the_ _ **words**_ _thing.’_

 _Ow ..._ Cloud muttered internally. _Were you always like this?_

_‘Only when you’re about to stick your head up your ass and go into an angst spiral when there’s a really simple solution. Now are you going to talk to him directly or not? I can’t exactly do it for you.’_

“I’ll be honest,” Cloud said aloud, shaking his head to clear it. “I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about. I have these ... _holes_ in my memory I can’t explain.”

“... Ah.” Leslie paused, then chuckled. “That ... makes a lot of sense. Yeah. I get that.”

“You too, huh?”

“Try ‘everything before a few years ago.’”

“You still seem more in the know than I am ... Can you offer any insight?”

“Probably.” Leslie hooked his thumbs in his waistband and shrugged. “Keep in mind ... I’ve only put some of this together since _yesterday_. So a lot of this is just ... suspicions I pieced together in the downtime between sending messages out and waiting for reports to come back. I can say without any false modesty that I’m smart – blame my template, I suspect ... but I haven’t really had time to try poking holes in this theory to see if it all hangs together. So don’t take me as the definitive source, alright?”

“Right now, you’re the only source we’ve got. So, I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

Leslie shrugged. “Alright, then ...” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I think ... I think Shinra tried to make copies of General Sephiroth – and,” Leslie gestured between him and Cloud, “we were both a part of this ... ‘Sephiroth clone’ project.”

Biggs put up a finger. He lowered it, curled his fingers into a fist, then pressed it against his mouth. “You know what? This isn’t even the third craziest thing I’ve heard in as many days. But you’re still going to have to break this down a _little_ further.”

Leslie chuckled at that. “I’ll do my best ...” He pulled his cap off his head and ruffled his short, silver hair. “After General Sephiroth was announced dead, I suspect Shinra was in something of a panic.” He shook his head as he returned the cap to its place. “I don’t _remember_ any of this, but I did a lot of reading about world events when I first ... emerged. Sephiroth was the last of the original First Class SOLDIERs – who, if you don’t recall, had been dropping like flies. But ... but I think he was _more_ than that, too. I don’t know all the details, but I think ... I think he was literally _born_ to be SOLDIER.”

Cloud touched his forehead as memories of Nibelheim flashed before his eyes, then shook his head to clear it. “That fits what I remember. Shinra wanted to recreate the power of the Ancients, so they did some sort of experiment using Mako and this _thing_ they dug up, called ‘Jenova.’ Sephiroth said _he_ was the result.”

“Huh ... so that’s why they did it.” Leslie frowned. “That fills in some of the pieces. Well, they couldn’t do the same trick again. It’d take a _decade_ before they even had a usable child soldier, _two_ before Sephiroth 2.0 was fully grown. Most of the suits at Shinra don’t have that kind of time – plus they have an empire to maintain _now._ So, they tried shortcuts.”

Leslie inclined his head to Cloud. “If my inferences are correct, I think SOLDIER is a quick-and-dirty way to make super-humans, _based_ on whatever techniques they used to make Sephiroth. But getting it tacked on as an adult is like ... like adding a piece of gold leaf on top of something. Superhuman gilding; scratch the surface and you’re still pretty human underneath. It’s not the same as being completely _infused_ with it – as having it part of your very makeup.

“Well, Shinra wanted something closer to the original and didn’t want to wait. So, I think they tried making another Sephiroth by taking what they had of Him and infusing it _deep_ into already living people.

“If you kept your personality, they considered that a failure. A sign it hadn’t sunk deep enough to ‘take,’ if you get me.” His lip curled in a derisive smirk. “Besides, I’m betting they didn’t want people as independent-minded as the original Sephiroth – particularly not anyone with memories of being experimented on. Those who weren’t ‘failures’ were given this tattoo.” He wiggled off the glove on his left hand and held it up. On the back was tattooed the number “1.”

“Hey, I’ve seen that before!” said Biggs.

“Marco has a tattoo like that on his shoulder,” Tifa whispered, looking green.

“Marco?”

“This ... guy I look after. He’s really sickly, but doesn’t seem to realize he needs to take care of himself. He’s ... not all there. He only has, like, a three word vocabulary.”

“Let me guess: two of those words are ‘Reunion’ and ‘Sephiroth.’”

“Yes ... I thought he was another of Sephiroth's victims ... like me. I couldn’t just ... _leave_ him. I had to ... _had_ to believe he could recover. Or at least ... at least live a happy life. But then ... then I SAW him _transform into Sephiroth!_ ”

“Huh ...” Leslie shook his head. “I’m not surprised.” He gestured up and down at himself. “I’m the result of what happens when you transform half-way and stop. I’m sorry to tell you, from personal experience, I don’t think your friend Marco actually exists. Not as _Marco._ You see, if Shinra’s experiments succeeded and your personality _was_ erased, there’s the big question of: what’s there to take its place? In most cases, it’s just: nothing. The body’s hollowed out. Only reason it doesn’t die is because, by this point, it’s got enough enhancements to make it _really_ hard TO die, even if it barely has enough instinct left to take care of itself.

“Me? I was lucky – or _something._ Whomever I was? Completely wiped; _gone._ I can’t even find out who I was, because I don’t even _look_ the same any more. But I guess I had enough of a mind left that I could start building a _new_ personality, once I’d gathered enough experiences. If your friend Marco hasn’t started becoming his own person yet ... I don’t think he’s going to.”

He looked at Cloud. “ _You_ , though ... You’re certainly a complete person.”

“My memories ...” Cloud said slowly. “The gaps in them ...”

Leslie shrugged. “They took away my memory entirely; it makes sense, even in failure, the process would poke some holes.”

“Maybe I retained so much because I was already SOLDIER to begin with.”

“Wait just a damn minute!” Barret stared at Leslie over his shades. “You’re saying you think Cloud had one of these experiment things done to him?”

“Oh yes. There’s this ... instinct, the ...” He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then blurted out, “ _Reunion._ ”

“What does that word _mean_?” Biggs demanded, sounding exasperated. “Why is it important?”

Leslie shook his head. “It’s this ... _pull_. It draws me towards _Him_ , like a compass arrow. If I let my instincts relax and just follow them where they will, I suspect I’ll always end up in his presence. But, other people who’ve had stuff like this done to them are like ... magnets, I guess. No, that’s not quite right. There’s a _tug_ ; I never really realized what it was before, before I saw _Him_ and _knew._ It’s not as powerful, but now I know what to look for, I can _definitely_ feel you while we’re standing in the same room.”

“Why do you call this instinct _Reunion_?” Wedge asked. “It’s not like ... you were all part of the same class or something and there’s going to be a party when you all get back together ... right?”

Leslie shrugged. “I dunno, to be honest. It just _feels_ right. It and ‘Sephiroth’ were some of the only words I _had_ when people found me. And ...” He looked at Tifa. “If your friend was muttering about ‘Reunion’ too, I can only assume that’s the proper name for it.”

“Man, this is all kinds of messed up,” Barret said, shaking his head. “So how’d you get away from Shinra after they did all this to you?”

“I didn’t; they let me out. Dumped me into the sewers.”

“What? Why? Weren’t you a ...” Barret nodded to his left hand, “‘successful’ experiment?”

Leslie spread his hands helplessly. “That, I can’t tell you. My memories from that time are _very_ hazy. My guess is, I wasn’t successful enough. I have a theory, actually; let me test something.”

Leslie turned and led the way to a small table. He swung his legs over the sides of the bench and took a seat, placing one elbow on the table with his hand raised. “Wrestle me.”

Cloud looked from the arm to him. “You’re serious.”

“Indulge me; I’m curious.”

Cloud shrugged and took a seat, putting up his own arm.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Wedge cried before they could start. “We have to make a proper production of this! Who’s taking bets?”

“Wait –” Leslie started. “This really isn’t a big deal –”

“My bet’s on Cloud!” Tifa cried.

“Mine too!” Biggs seconded.

 _‘You can do it, Cloud!’_ Zack encouraged enthusiastically.

“Crush him into the dust, merc!” Barret cheered, pumping his arm.

“ _Nobody’s_ going to bet on me?” Leslie muttered. “ _Wow._ ”

“On your mark!” Wedge trumpeted.

“It’s not –”

“Get set!”

“Oh for ...”

“ _GO!_ ”

Both Cloud and Leslie rolled their eyes with almost exactly the same expression, then tightened their muscles as they began to struggle. Leslie put up a surprising amount of resistance, but – slowly but surely – his hand inched downward until his knuckles touched the table.“Well, that settles that. Now the left arm.”

The contest was closer this time, but Cloud was still clearly the winner.

“Thought so,” Leslie muttered when he caught his breath. “Makes sense, I suppose; prototypes aren’t as refined as later models. I’m strong, fast, and tough – probably the most dangerous man in the sector, soon as you leave. But as Sephiroth clones go, I’m one of the weaker ones.”

Cloud stiffened. “I’m _not_ a Sephiroth clone.”

“No, but someone tried to _make_ you one.”

Cloud hesitated, then asked, “Did you know anyone named Zack Fair?”

Leslie shrugged. “Not that I remember. Before I lost my memory ... who can say?”

“This all sucks, man,” Wedge murmured, shaking his head. He looked up at Leslie. “I hope you get your memory back one day!”

Leslie shook his head hard. “I _don’t_.”

“What?” Wedge looked confused. “Why wouldn’t you want your memory back?”

“Wedge,” Tifa said quietly, “whatever happened was probably very traumatic. If you could have something take away your memories of trauma ... wouldn’t you want them to stay gone?”

Leslie chuckled and gave her a smile. “That too, I suppose. What I actually meant, though, is ... whomever that person was is _gone._ ” He flicked a strand of silver hair. “Look at how much I’ve changed on the outside; who _knows_ what that process did to my neurology. I’m _literally_ a different person. I’m some sort of ... blend. A stable one – as far as I can tell. And that suits me just fine. Leslie Kyle is his own person and I’ve got my own experiences shaping me into the man I am today. I don’t _care_ about whomever went into that tank. I’ve got things I want and a person I need to find ... but that all comes from the life I built for myself _after_ I came to Wall Market. I just want to keep moving forward.”

“Speakin’ of moving forward.” Barret settled down on the bench across from Leslie, elbowing Cloud out of the way. “We’ve got our own person we want to find.”

Cloud had to stand to avoid falling off the end of the bench and narrowed his eyes at Barret. _Hey ..._

_‘Let it go, man; he’s turning the conversation where we need it to go.’_

_Fine._

Barret leaned across the table. “Sorry to be asking something of you when we already owe you big time ... But there’s this young woman we need to extract from Shinra.”

“Aerith,” Cloud put in. “You’ll remember her.”

“Oh yeah ... she seemed nice.” Leslie rubbed his chin. “Hey, I’m all for _any_ plan that inconveniences Shinra. What do you need?”

“Well.” Barret’s teeth flashed in a grin. “Shinra came into my neighborhood to kick over some shit. I’d like to return the favor. But to do it, we need to get there.” He beckoned to Biggs.

Biggs stepped forward and laid his specialized grappling gun on the table. “I got this off a black-market seller right here in Wall Market. Got anything like it?”

* * *

Sephiroth stood on the highest spire of Shinra tower. The pieces were all nearly in place. He would not have to wait much longer. His gaze moved out over the city.

People said Midgar was beautiful, especially at night. They spoke of elegant edifices of glass and chrome, of millions of lights shimmering in the dark.

People were irrational and wrong.

Midgar was nothing; a grotesque monument to self-deception and avarice.

The lights were an affront – the glare masked the cold beauty of the night sky and the lights themselves were fueled by contemptible theft; the slow exsanguination of his planet. The buildings were no better – glittering spires and frosted panes ... gilded cloth draped over a decaying corpse.

There was nothing beautiful about Midgar. Millions of insects scurried about their meaningless routines, all their moments bled away for a bigger number in one man’s ledger.

One man that was currently trying to rein in his terror as his world flipped on its head and his carefully fashioned plans disintegrated around him.

Sephiroth felt his lips curl in a cold smile, the obscenity of the city fading into irrelevance as his thoughts wandered.

Every cycle differed; he’d made sure of it. Still, there were certain constants. Aerith always dove into the flames for the child, was always late getting out, always bargained away her freedom for the child’s safety. And _he_ always killed President Shinra. It had become a ritual, soothing in its familiarity.

In the building operations plant, his hand was on the breaker. At the hangar – and on the third basement level – he was directly in front of the necessary doors. In the lab, he was asserting his will, coalescing his form from the raw materials floating in their sequestered tank.

He turned his back on the city. It was time.


	17. Aleatory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally, aleatory is defined as: depending on the throw of a dice or on chance. In music, it refers to any piece where randomness plays a key part.

Cait Sith had been wiggling out of a home he had just finished checking for survivors when he’d first spotted the little group. The first thing that caught his attention was they were going _up_ the plate. The next was, despite using high tech grappling guns, this eclectic bunch _clearly_ weren’t members of Shinra.

 _More ‘civilian relief efforts?’_ had been his first thought, tinged with the same sort of disdainful annoyance that Reeve felt for the term. Given the enormity of the task, any assistance _should_ have been a Goddess-send – except these surprisingly organized groups boiling out of the woodwork had a noted hostility towards Shinra. They were actively trying to keep the refugees from having anything to do with Shinra’s relief forces – despite the refugees on the plate being Shinra employees. Most people on the plate were actually glad to see the Shinra company logo and wary of the obvious hoodlums boiling up from the plate below, further exacerbating clashes.

Reeve was left practically tearing out his hair. His men were better trained, better equipped, and had the resources of an entire institution behind them, with the sort of infrastructure for large-scale relief efforts that no individual party could manage. Everyone _should_ be pulling together in a time like this; if they’d just work _with_ him, there wouldn’t be a problem!

Cait Sith had been particularly wary because it had turned out the reason the couple in this house hadn’t tried to make for an evacuation point was because one of them was on life support – exactly the sort of problem a bunch of street toughs with nothing more advanced than bandages and bottled water wouldn’t be able to handle, not that they wouldn’t kill the bloke while trying.

Then his automatic attempt to cross-reference the individuals had started popping up matches in some very _fascinating_ videos. Reeve had access to all sorts of things as a department head in Shinra.

_So. Avalanche not only made it, but yer runnin’ about with the determined look of some gallus plan ..._

Cait Sith had been following the little group for some time. After sending a notification to the nearest medical squad so the couple could be evacced, he had taken advantage of his small size to scamper through the shadows and observe.

 _‘Interesting ...’_ he heard Reeve murmur through their neural link. _‘I can use this. Cait Sith: follow them and keep an eye on what they do.’_

 _‘Ye dinnae tell me what tae do!’_ Cait Sith stroked the fur of his tail into a neater pattern. _‘Fortunately, that was just what ah was plannin’ on anyways.’_

_‘Thank you, Cait Sith.’_

Yes ... this had potential. Now to see just what they were up to – and if they were smart enough to avoid getting killed in the process.

* * *

On the threshold of reaching their goal, an argument had broken out among Avalanche.

“We ain’t got _time_ for a subtle approach,” Barret growled. “And I _really_ wanna crack a few Shinra skulls for what they tried to pull in Sector 7.”

“We also don’t have time for fighting an entire building full of security,” Tifa pointed out. “Particularly not _all at once._ ”

“I mean ...” Wedge murmured. “They’re – they’re probably pretty busy right now ... I don’t _think_ we’d set off a general alert if we walked right in. Nobody would be expecting it!” He gave a thumbs up. “Jessie taught me that. Sometimes the best stealth is not to be sneaky! Which is good, because I’m not good at being sneaky ...”

“Yes,” Biggs allowed, “but Jessie’s methods often work best if you can pretend like you belong – and just keep bullshitting long enough that the moment to question it is gone and it’s just not worth the effort to think about it any more.” He gestured around the little group. “Cloud’s wearing a SOLDIER uniform, so him, maybe. I could pass for a grunt easily enough if we knocked one out and stole their uniform. Tifa too, _maybe._ But you’re not going to fit and, more importantly, Barret’s going to stand out like a sore thumb.” He gestured to the gun arm. “And no, I don’t think the whole ‘We have a prisoner!’ trick is going to work,” he added as Wedge opened his mouth. “Someone that high profile is going to attract a lot of attention, which is exactly what we don’t need.”

“Aww ...”

“Aerith’s going to be in the labs, which are near the top of the building ...” Cloud mused. “Elevators are likely going to be monitored. Which means ...”

Barret groaned. “You have _got_ to be shittin’ me ...”

* * *

It was time.

In the building operations plant, Sephiroth flipped the breaker. There were certainly more cathartic ways to disable the power- and ones that would be harder to reverse. Appealing as the thought had been, he'd reluctantly refrained; permanent solutions were, by design, difficult to undo – and a resource destroyed was one that could not be utilized later. There would be enough wanton destruction to satisfy him shortly.

As one body was seeing to the power, another was half way across the sector. In the moments between the power cutting out and the auxiliary generator kicking on, Sephiroth drove his boot into the hangar’s bulkhead door. The heavy steel plate crumpled in half and shot across the hangar, trailing debris from its anchoring wall like the tail of a comet.

Sephiroth strode into its wake, stepping around the leisurely drift of flying debris. The hangar was half-empty. The transport choppers had all been deployed, commandeered for search and rescue; Sephiroth was vaguely disappointed he hadn’t had ears in the room for whatever combination of fast-talking, favor-calling, and outright bullshit Reeve had used to manage that. However, all of the suppression and assault craft that had survived the attack on sector 7 were undergoing repair, refueling, and rearmament.

One such craft was directly before him, along with a gaggle of techs currently swearing and frantically smacking the side of their floor lamps, which had cut out when the power went down and were not, apparently, considered critical enough to be hooked up to the auxiliary generator.

Sephiroth’s eyes were not limited by the dimness; his pupils began to dilate. He smiled and lifted a hand.

“What the –?” one of the tech exclaimed as the helicopter in front of him smoothly began to lift upward. He and the others quickly scrambled away, attempts to analyze the situation temporarily overridden by the finely-honed instinct of those who worked around large machinery to gain distance rapidly in the event it began moving in unexpected directions. One of them cried out as he caught sight of Sephiroth and pointed.

Sephiroth’s smile grew into a smirk. He gave his hand a casual flick.

The multi-ton mass of metal and fine electronics hurtled away, smashing into the far wall with a resounding crash that seemed to shake the very floor. The technicians scattered, fleeing for cover as Sephiroth strode through the hanger, sending aircraft flying in his wake. _He_ was on a tight schedule, but _this body_ wasn’t needed anywhere any time soon; he could afford to amuse himself.

He moved down a double row of assault craft, searching for something to catch his fancy. _Hmm, these are too small_ , he thought with mild disappointment. _No._ He batted one sideways, sending it careening into several others. _No._ This one was batted into the air, arching down to smash on top of several more, creating a satisfying tangle of debris. _No_. Another was sent pinwheeling away. _Ah, perfect._ He had come to one of the larger assault craft.

Sephiroth flipped this one straight up, then smashed it down hard against the ground. Glass shattered in an _eminently_ satisfying manner and metal squealed as it crumpled and tore loose to spin away in deadly arcs. Sephiroth smashed it against the ground a few more times, then into several other craft before it was too broken to be amusing any more. He tossed away the barely recognizable tangle of metal, getting one last glimmer of delight from the crash and squeal of it connecting with a few more craft. It created an intriguing mess of lightweight steel, unspent munitions, and spattered fuel.

His sense of aesthetics tugged at him – a little spark would be the _perfect_ addition to this moment – but the patter of frantic heartbeats and the tang of blood in the air gave him pause.

Before he could come to a decision, his attention was grabbed by the staccato thud of booted feet pounding across the tarmac. He turned to regard the two full squads of Shinra troops leveling their guns at him.

He gazed at them impassively. They seemed to take in the entirety of the scene before them, the tableau of twisted metal and cowering mortals in the dark, cavernous hangar. Morale wavered.

Sephiroth smiled coldly and lifted his arms. His boots left the ground. Before their eyes, he rose to the level of the top of the helicopters, then gave Masamune a single casual swing.

A razor-thin wave of force sliced through the hanger at exactly the height of the helicopters’ drive shafts. There was a millisecond pause, then every single rotor blade in the complex clattered to the floor, some bouncing and pinwheeling in ways that no piece of metal that large should ever be seen doing that close to a human being.

Sephiroth’s boots touched the ground. He canted his head, Masamune dangling lazily at his side. The troops looked at each other, then bolted.

_Good to see intelligence hasn’t been completely eradicated from the rank and file._

Sephiroth examined the result of his amusement in the hanger with a critical eye, then regretfully cast aside the idea of adding fire as a final finishing touch. _Let them struggle for their lives,_ he thought. _Nothing is taking off from this hangar tonight._

* * *

Tseng slewed his car around, making what few other drivers were on the road honk at him wildly, and – ignoring all rules of the road – drove over the divider into the opposing lane so he could speed off in the opposite direction. “I don’t care,” he said into his earpiece. “Bring it down wherever there’s room. I’ll be there shortly.”

As he came to an intersection, he pulled over to the side of the road and got out of his vehicle, waving his arm into the blinding spotlight of the descending helicopter. As the chopper set down, the doors slid open, a man exiting as his long white coat flapped in the wind of the rotors. Rufus Shinra narrowed his eyes at him as he approached. “Tseng. Ah trust you have a good reason for this?”

Tseng knew he must be annoyed; his dialect had slipped just momentarily from the cool, cultured tones of his father to his more natural drawl, inherited from his mother. He came to attention, hands clasped behind his back. “Mr. Vice-President. I’ve just received reports Sephiroth is trashing our aircraft. We can’t assume you’ll be safe in the air; I’m here to take you the rest of the way by ground.”

Rufus’ face moved slightly as a number of calculations quickly flicked past behind his eyes. Then, he nodded, displaying the sort of cool confidence of a man not so much bowing to a sensible suggestion as giving the order to execute a good idea. “Very well. I leave such security matters to your expert judgement.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tseng said, with some relief.

Rufus stepped aside as a black canine shape hopped down from the helicopter behind him. “I trust you remember Darkstar. This will not be a problem, will it?”

Tseng looked at the canine and hoped the animal wasn’t the sort to get car sick. “Turks handle problems, sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

* * *

“Another day ... another struggle ... climbing stairs ... is so much trouble ...”

“Barret, how do you have the breath to _sing?_ ”

“I dunno! I got, like ... a stairclimber’s high or something.”

“Wedge, how are you holding up?”

“Okay! I’m g ... I’m g ... I’m not good; I was actually lying. But I can do it! For the healer lady!”

“That’s the spirit! We can ... we can do this! Just another ... how many floors?”

There was a collective groan as they came to the next landing.

* * *

Reno swiped moodily through reports on his slate. Rude was off in his own corner, doing ... whatever. He seemed to have gotten the hint that Reno didn’t want to talk. Reno kept pulling up reports, switching to a new tab ... then switching back. That was the problem with being part of the group assigned to keep an eye on everybody else’s dirty secrets: it was just too damn easy to find information.

There was a knock on the door.

“Fuck off!” he yelled over his shoulder without looking up.

“Excuse me?” Both Reno and Rude froze at the mild, deadly tones of Sephiroth’s voice.

“Ahshit ... _Please_ fuck off?” Reno hazarded with a hyena-like grin of manic terror. Then he whispered frantically to Rude, “Oh Goddess, what does he want here?”

“We’re three stories down; only thing he could possibly be here for is us.”

“ _That’s not comforting!_ ”

“Hmph.” Rude’s lip twitched. “Cry about it to your mother later.”

“Oh that’s just _low,_ man!”

“If you’re _quite_ finished, gentlemen.” Sephiroth’s dry voice froze them. “I’m here for the Cetra girl’s things.”

“The whonow?”

“The Ancient,” Rude supplied quietly. “He’s talking about Aerith.”

“... Do we even _have_ those?” Reno whispered back.

“Well we’d better _produce_ them.”

“I trust you gentlemen understand a locked door is no barrier for me,” Sephiroth’s igneous voice filtered through, slightly muffled. “All of this is only a professional courtesy.”

“Um, er – just a moment!” What followed was several minutes of the Turks frantically tearing their office apart. In the middle of it, Reno scampered over to the door and flipped the lock to “unlocked.”

Rude spared a moment from picking the lock on the drawers in Tseng’s desk to give him an appalled look. “What are you _doing?_ ”

“Preventin’ property damage! You heard him; someone’s gotta replace this door if he comes bustin’ through it – and I don’t want a bunch of repair guys trompin’ through our office!”

Reno proceeded to upend all the most logical hiding places in the office. He looked under the couch, felt along the underside of Tseng’s desk for bags taped to the wood, checked behind the piles of dreadfully dull finance paperwork that nobody in their right mind would care to disturb, even parted the pile of “healthy snacks” that had about the flavor and consistency of cardboard to see if there was anything lurking at the bottom of the box – which hadn’t been seen in years. Nothing.

“Found it,” Rude said with a pleased smile, holding up a plastic bag.

“Huh? Where _was_ it?”

“In the ‘confiscated items’ bin, clearly labeled.”

Reno stared at him in consternation. “What kinda a sociopath would put it there?”

“Let’s not call names.” The amused purr chilled the two Turks into immobility. Sephiroth was standing in the office with them.

_That’s right. If you unlock the door, he can just ... waltz right in! Yanno, that’s something I’d like to see; bet Sephiroth could do a mean waltz._

Of course, he could do a mean everything. Like taking apart two Turks who were standing between him and something that he wanted.

Reno quickly snatched the bag out of Rude’s hands and held it out. “Aerith’s things! All, um, nice and neatly labeled!”

The weight of it was lifted from his hand. “So refreshing to have a _reasonable_ encounter.”

Reno gave another laugh that was as much nerves as humor. “You know us: nice, reasonable people! Just the sort you don’t wanna go murdering on a casual killing spree, right?”

Rude elbowed him in the side.

Sephiroth _smiled_. “Reno ... You don’t casually destroy something you could use later.”

“That’s ... not actually very comforting.”

Sephiroth’s sulfuric chuckle filled the room. Then, _very_ abruptly, his laughter stopped. He was staring at something on the center table, pupils constricting to tiny slits. Reno turned to look, tracking his gaze.

 _“This table, two hours,”_ Tseng had told him what felt like _ages_ ago – before the trip to Sector 7, before the entire world had seemed to turn upside-down. _No one_ had time to deal with anything but the current crisis after that.

There in plain view, forgotten until now, was a manilla folder clearly labeled “Project S.”

Sephiroth swept his arm in a backhand and a blast of force slammed both Reno and Rude into the far wall. There, they were pinned by waves of unrelenting pressure, boots dangling well off the ground.

Sephiroth’s arm remained outstretched, fingers curled with a tension that suggested they dearly wanted to be wrapped around something physical. His eyes were utterly inhuman and very, very cold. “Did you read it?”

Reno wheezed against the pressure that felt like someone was kneeling on his chest. “Jus – just the financials! ... And anything else that looked interesting?” he admitted with a terrified vulpine smile.

There was a twitch in Sephiroth’s face and his grip tightened. Reno felt his ribs bend and heard a gasp from next to him. Then the twitch was gone and the extra pressure eased.

Sephiroth turned and moved over to the table, seemingly ignoring the two Turks pressed spread-eagled against the wall. He rested his fingertips upon the manilla folder for a moment, then scooped it up. The minute it was tucked under his arm, the pressure ceased and the two Turks were dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

“I suppose it wouldn’t make sense to kill you after I just saved you,” he mused as Reno and Rude struggled to catch their breath on their knees.

“S ... s ...” Reno wheezed, “... saved?”

“From the consequences of your actions. It must be a great weight off your mind.” His cold smile lacked malice, which made it all the more chilling. “I know you, Reno. You’re a leg-breaker; you’re no saint, and you’re certainly no monster. A few score of lives as opposed to sixty thousand? _Surely_ that must make it easier to cope. You’re welcome.”

With that, he was gone, leaving a staring Rude and a Reno who was slowly beginning to hyperventilate.

* * *

_‘Do do be-do. Another day! Another struggle! Climbing stairs IS ... so much trouble! When your life IS ... nothing but rubble ... It pushes you OUTTA ... your comfort bubble!’_

“Zack, _shut up!_ ”

“Huh?”

“He’s doing a remix of Barret’s stupid song. But he hasn’t figured out all the lyrics yet, so I get front-row seat to his asinine attempts to poke at rhymes.”

_‘Hey! Don’t talk to me about asses! I KNOW you’re secretly happy Tifa’s ahead of you.’_

_Shut UP._

_‘But I’m BORED! And I don’t have lungs to get tired! Hey, how’s Wedge doing?’_

_I dunno._ “How are you doing, Wedge?”

“I’m _dying!_ ” he wailed. “Why did Jessie always carry the snacks?”

“I may have something,” Tifa offered.

“I have a spare or two for times just like this,” Biggs chimed in.

Barret patted his pockets. “Might have a thing or two as well. Marlene gets a little cranky if she gets hungry.”

“I suppose we could stop for a _small_ break,” Cloud allowed.

Team Avalanche sat on the stairs, taking inventory of their small picnic.

“I got some granola bars and a bag of that nice, round cereal; Marlene _loved_ playin’ with that when she was a toddler!.”

“I have a few tiny water bottles.”

“I have a juice box.”

“Dibs!”

“I have a candy bar.”

“... Also dibs?”

_‘I have a bottomless well of emotional support! Ahem: you can do it, buddy!’_

“... Zack offers his bottomlesss well of emotional support.”

“D’aww, thanks Zack!”

 _How is_ _**that** _ _more appreciated than my candy bar?_

_‘It’s because you like coconut, man.’_

_Huh? What’s wrong with coconut?_

_‘Hey: fruits are_ _**evil** _ _.’_

_... What?_

_‘I mean, they’re not as bad as apples, but I’m still pretty suspicious of any fruit that thinks it needs armor. I’m watching you, coconut.’_

_Are coconuts even fruits?_

_‘... I mean, they grow on trees.’_

_Goddess, Zack. It has ‘nut’ in the name; you’d think that’d be enough to at least make you question!_

_‘I dunno ... a “titmouse” is neither a mouse nor a –’_

_**Goddess**_ _, Zack!_ “Hey guys,” he said aloud to end the argument. “What type of food group is a coconut?”

Barret took a swig of water. “I mean, botanically speakin’, it’s a fibrous one-seed drupe. But I guess you could say it’s technically a fruit, a nut, _and_ a seed all in one. Why?”

_‘Ah-HA! It’s a SNEAKY fruit!’_

“GODDESS, Zack!”

“Huh?”

“... I have no idea how to explain this.”

* * *

Aerith knew something was about to happen when the music changed. She came to her feet, listening intently. Had it been twenty-four hours yet? She couldn’t tell in this stark, unchanging hell-hole.

No screams or sounds of explosions yet. _Of course, it does take even Sephiroth time to cross intervening space._

She paced back and forth in her glass prison, fretting. Should she consume the last of the lab-provided food and water? She would need her energy and she didn’t know when she’d get a chance to eat or drink again. But, then again, if she had to run in a harrowing escape, the last thing she needed was to get a cramp because she’d exercised too recently after eating. Goddess help her; the idea of running on a full bladder was even less appealing.

_This is why I hate those moments right before I KNOW something will happen; I am bad at this waiting thing._

She kept one eye on the door, but kept glancing upward at what little she could see of the room’s observation booth. Would he be practical and come through the door, or burst through the booth in a dramatic shower of glass? Her expectations were about equally weighted towards either option – which was why she was taken completely off-guard when a cross-section of the floor was suddenly sliced apart, leaving lines that glowed white hot. The lacerated floor erupted upward, peeling back with a shriek of tortured metal. Sephiroth floated up through the still-steaming hole in the floor, his boot soles coming to rest ever so slightly above the ground. He took in her slack-jawed stare and smirked.

Aerith gaped at him, then turned to look at the door, the hole in the floor, and back to him. Before she could stop herself, she quipped brightly, “You _really_ like being dramatic, don’t you?”

By this point, Aerith had gained enough familiarity with the silver-haired man, she thought she was able to read the subtle hints of emotion that flickered across his face. Disappointment at not eliciting a more awed reaction, amusement and pleasure at an adversary not so easily overcome.

“Of all places to be left in ruin, I suspect this is one to which you would not object.”

“Didn’t actually address my statement, but you’re not wrong.” She pressed her palms against the edge of the glass. “Help?”

She could hear the music building, rising in a growing crescendo as a message from the planet that something was about to happen. She was honestly excited and a little intrigued. _Considering how drama-prone Sephiroth is, I barely need the warning. I just want to see what he has planned to justify this._

His smirk grew as the music pulled back in an anticipatory trill of strings. “How could I resist a plea delivered so prettily?”

“What a _fascinating_ confirmation of my hypothesis!”

The music _twisted_ even as Sephiroth’s boot soles hit the floor with a jolt that nearly made him stumble. Instead of what should have followed, the music of the lab returned with a vengeance as Hojo descended the stairs.

It was funny, part of Aerith thought as her mind reeled. That had originally been _Jenova’s_ music. But at some point, she had come to associate the theme with the nightmare of the lab itself. The lab was _his_ domain. _Surely there is no Jenova in him now, or Sephiroth would never have been surprised._ No, he had taken the music and corrupted it, making it his, just as he did with everything that fell into his hands.

Sephiroth had frozen unnaturally still. He wasn’t even breathing. Stiff backed, tension radiating from his shoulders, his eyes were the only thing moving, pupils dilating wider and wider until they were almost round – the most human look she had ever seen for them. She didn’t like it. _Not like this._

Hojo smiled as he reached the bottom of the steps and spread his arms wide. “How _delighted_ I am that I could be here to witness this. Do you know, I almost would have missed this – I had another _dreadfully_ dull meeting I was supposed to attend – had I not been alerted by the Ancient’s sudden change in behavior. You’re lucky I happened to be passing through the lab to see it for myself – what _did_ you do to the cameras?”

Aerith cursed herself. Poise, elegance, be boring – not drawing attention had been the whole _point_ of this!

She half expected Sephiroth to shoot her an accusatory look, but his eyes were locked on Hojo.

Something was wrong. His eyes never strayed from Hojo for long, but he couldn’t seem to look the man in the face. His gaze kept sliding down and away, as if staring into his face physically hurt. _What’s going on?_

“My dear boy,” Hojo chuckled. “I always _knew_ you were destined for greater things than to die in some _nothing_ little town. Now we are reunited again – and with all the curtains of deception between us pulled away.” He swept his arm expansively, ending the gesture with his hand extended towards Sephiroth.

Sephiroth took a rapid half step backwards, maintaining the distance between them. It was the first time Aerith had seen him retreat from _anyone._

“Now, now,” Hojo chided, sounding paternally disappointed in a way that made Aerith’s skin crawl. “Don’t be _illogical_. I know you may have internalized a fair bit of resentment over the lack of acknowledgment of our familial relationship, but you are _clearly_ just as guilty of obscuring the truth as I. Such _power_ ... I always _knew_ you were holding back on all those tests.” He wagged a finger at Sephiroth. “Deliberately fabricating data, my scientific soul shudders at the thought. Such a pity that with all your prodigious intellect, you still fail to grasp the things that _matter_.”

 _Why isn’t he tearing Hojo apart?_ The muscles in Sephiroth’s shoulders were pulled so tight, they were nearly hunched. Yet as Hojo moved towards the tank, Sephiroth gave ground before him. It was like there was an invisible force field keeping him at arm’s length. _His whole life, Hojo’s been untouchable._

“ _Sephiroth!_ ” she cried out, desperately trying to get his attention.

Sephiroth’s head blurred, a twitch done much too fast. _He’s forgetting to act human._ But Hojo’s spell was too strong and his eyes were back on the man before he had even done more than glance at Aerith for a moment.

“Hm?” Hojo hummed, raising an eyebrow. “Ah, the Ancient, yes ... I have _so_ many questions about how you two are connected. Oh there’s no need for _fear_ ,” he reassured. “I do not _disapprove_... I am _overjoyed!_ ” He clasped his hands together almost reverently. “The pinnacle of my success and the last of the Ancients, coming together!” He reached out to caress the glass of the tank almost lovingly, making Aerith recoil, her lip curling with disgust and hatred.

“I have so many theories I wish to test!” Hojo cried, turning. “So many experiments I need to run! Yes, I am willing to sweep all sins under the rug and put the past behind us because we are at the dawn of a new _era of discovery!_ ” He extended a hand towards his son, making Sephiroth flinch back. “How I would _love_ to meet your offspring.”

The only thing Aerith caught was the flash of widening eyes. Then the music _stopped._ No coda, no ending chord. It simply cut out, mid-measure. The only sound was a sudden _crk!_

Aerith found herself staring at a small crack in the glass. She followed it down. Her eyes traced the crack as it transitioned from clear to red ... then came to rest on the tip of Masamune, sticking through the glass. Involuntarily, she flinched backward; _somehow_ the sharpened steel had gotten MUCH too close without her ever registering it crossing the intervening space. Shaken, she was only half-sure she heard the hiss of steel on flesh as Sephiroth yanked Masamune free of Hojo’s chest.

Hojo stared down at the hole in his chest, a look of something close to bewilderment on his face. His hand reached up to touch the growing red stain on his labcoat even as his legs gave out and his body crumpled to the floor.

Sephiroth stood still for a moment. He was definitely breathing now; his heavy breaths were the only sound in all the lab. Then he swung Masamune twice, jerkily. The first slice passed diagonally over Aerith's head at a steep angle, leaving the tank bisected by a smoldering seam. If the first strike had hit the tank like a searing razor, the second, horizontal swing hit it like a speeding truck. She lurched sideways in its wake, staggering as everything to her right was showered with shattered glass.

He turned away, even before she had moved to exit, standing with his back to her.

Aerith stepped gingerly over the carpeting of glass fragments. Looking up at Sephiroth, she reached out, then paused, hand still half outstretched. “May I touch your shoulder?” The question was quiet, her voice low.

Sephiroth’s back tightened, shoulders stiffening in unconscious aversion. Then, after a moment, he said, “... I will allow it.”

Moving slowly and cautiously, like she would towards a feral animal, Aerith reached up and gently laid her palm against the back of one shoulder blade. They stood that way for a moment, her sharing the warmth and gentle pressure of human contact. Gradually, she felt the tension under her palm start to loosen. It didn’t ease, not completely, but over time it went from the rigidity of marble to something merely tight.

After a few moments, Sephiroth stepped away from her hand. Aerith let him; she didn't need the Planet to tell her that he wouldn’t react well to feeling restrained or pursued. She’d kept her hand flat against his back, so he could move away at any time. She let her arm fall to her side.

“Come,” Sephiroth said, his tone all business. “My timetable is flexible, but we still should not linger.”

“Right.” No discussing what had just happened, nope. Not here, not now. _Compartmentalize._

Sephiroth didn’t once glance down at Hojo as he strode for the hole in the floor. It felt like a statement. Aerith didn’t want to look either, for more squeamish reasons. _I don’t want to know if that twitching is the last contraction of muscles or if he’s still at the point where he could be saved._

_I don’t want to know._

_He passed the point where I could save him long ago._

She did not look down.

* * *

Rufus and Tseng breezed past the startled night security guard who had been half asleep at the front desk until the authority of Shinra had swept right past him. Darkstar gave the man a growl, seemingly to ensure he would stay awake now. “Has anybody told you that traffic laws exist?” Rufus murmured to Tseng, dry amusement tingeing his voice.

Tseng, who had one hand pressed to his ear, spared a moment to give his superior the slightest twitch of his lip in a smile. “I am sure your father’s discretionary budget can cover any relevant fines. These _are_ exceptional circumstances.”

He pressed the button for the elevator, even as he drank in information from his earpiece. “What do you mean he’s in the building?” he demanded as the elevator doors closed behind the two of them and the dog. “We had eyes on him in the air-field _minutes_ ago.”

“I’m telling you,” Rude’s basso voice rumbled in his ear, “he only _just_ left; he had us bottled up in the office. Uh, I mean ... He had us bottled up in the office.”

“There’s an unholy racket up in the science wing,” one of the security captains reported. “Fleeing scientists are gibbering about seeing Sephiroth up there as well.”

“Have _you_ confirmed?”

“ _Hell_ no. Uh, sir. We’re waiting on SOLDIER.”

“I’m not sure whether to fire him for cowardice or promote him for good sense,” Tseng muttered aloud, carefully not pressing _Transmit_.

“Care to enlighten me about the situation?” Rufus murmured.

“I’m somewhat in the dark, myself. I’m getting reports of Sephiroth in multiple places at once.”

“But that’s impossible, isn’t it?” Rufus’ eyes narrowed. “Some of them have to be body-doubles or duplicates, like we saw in that Genesis debacle a few years ago.” They narrowed still further. “But I remember much being made of the fact Sephiroth couldn’t be copied ... Great amounts of time and effort and _money_ were poured into confirming this fact, with all attempts ending in failure.” His fingers drummed the side of his trousers. “ _Great_ amounts of money.”

“Then it must be something else.” The Sephiroth at the airfield certainly seemed like the real one. Initial reports suggested he’d wielded a power, along with a terrifying control, and a flair for the dramatic that could _only_ be the real Sephiroth. “Rude, can you _confirm_ the man you saw was actually Sephiroth? Did he speak to you?”

“Oh it was definitely Sephiroth, sir. Reno ... isn’t handling it well; I had to sedate him.”

“So you’re _certain_?”

“ _Utterly._ ”

“If that’s the same person,” he muttered aloud, “that’s half way across the city in _minutes_.”

Rufus shook his head. “ _Nothing_ could be that fast.”

“Hmm, just like we thought nothing could hold up an entire plate – until last night.”

“I don’t like the direction your mind is going.”

“No, sir; I don’t either.”

* * *

As they hurried through the lower lab, Aerith was suddenly struck by a thought. “Wait!” Ignoring Sephiroth’s mild stare that somehow managed to convey tremendous shock and indignation, she veered away from his projected path and hurried back towards the tanks.

“There’s no time,” Sephiroth started to protest, sounding on edge and annoyed.

“We have to,” she insisted. “Nanaki.”

Sephiroth paused, then his eyes narrowed. “You would have me assist one who has been my enemy in every timeline, for no gain to myself? _No._ Absolutely not.”

“With me gone, Avalanche has no cause to raid the labs,” Aerith tried to reason with him. “If they don’t come here, with no one to let him out ...”

Sephiroth’s arms folded across his chest. “You _swore_ to obey me.”

“What?”

“ ‘Anything’ – that was your exact word.”

She stared at him. “I was about to get dragged away from the camera and didn’t know how long I had! Forgive me for not reciting a more _precise contract!_ ” She hesitated, then her voice softened, growing more quiet. “I can’t be other than who I am, Sephiroth.” Her lip twitched sadly. “You were right about that.”

“ _Hmn._ ” The half growl was his only answer, but his arms unfolded. Whether he had determined it would be less trouble to simply give her what she wanted or whether it was the magic of the words “you were right” stroking both his ego and his raised hackles, he seemed to be giving grudging acquiescence. Or at least he wasn’t standing in her way.

That was enough.

Before he could change his mind, Aerith ran back in the direction of the tanks. The first one she noticed was the giant metal hemisphere that housed Jenova. She had tried to avoid looking at it, when they had first floated down from the floor that housed her own tank. It had been difficult enough to do, for it dominated the room. Now, however, as she skirted it, she saw a giant hole had been blown in the side, metal peeled back as if from extreme force.

 _Of course,_ she thought almost bitterly. _Sephiroth would want Jenova’s body._ At least she hadn’t been following a blood trail this time. Memories from that other universe floated to her mind’s eye.

Something was off about the two sets of images – something beyond the lack of carnage. It took her a minute, then she realized the direction of the impact scarring had been inversed. Something had forced its way out _from the inside._

Aerith wheeled around to stare at Sephiroth. He regarded her with mild question. He _looked_ like Sephiroth. Right down to the white flower stuck in his harness. _Wait, what?_

Her mind caught up with her. It had been a week since she’d placed the white camellia there during the conversation that had started all this. A week, with a cut flower that hadn’t been placed in water at any time, yet it still showed no signs of wilting or browning. _It’s Jenova cells. All of it._

And what she was looking at, she thought as she pulled back her gaze to take in all of him, was _all_ Jenova cells. At least all from the original body. This form must be incredibly dense. She’d _thought_ the impact when his boots had actually hit the ground sounded heavier than it should. But that had been the only indication. There were no heavy impacts when your steps floated a hair’s breath above the floor. _And I thought he was doing it just so he wouldn’t have to touch anything in this place, even the floor. Of course, it could very well be both._ It seemed unwise to assume that Sephiroth’s motives were as simple as one thing OR the other.

Her palm itched from where she had placed it against his shoulder. She couldn’t believe she had touched _Jenova._

Except ... no, she hadn’t. She’d touched _Sephiroth._ There had been no indication otherwise, no warning from the planet, not even a musical sting. It _was_ Sephiroth through and through at this point. At least while he was inhabiting the body.

Aerith shook her head. _Compartmentalize, compartmentalize ..._ One more hefty shock to her system and she was going to break down. She had to _focus on the moment_ or she wasn’t going to get out of here at all.

She ran past the metal hemisphere around to the more typical specimen tank on the other side. There he was, coiled in the center of the tank. Red fur, the tattoo of XIII on one shoulder, a tail whose tip blazed with a self-contained fire, with a form that seemed half-way between canine and feline.

His head came up as they approached and he watched them warily, lips wrinkling over his muzzle in a warning growl. Of course, he’d have _no_ reason to trust anybody in this nightmare lab. Particularly when one of them was someone he _must_ have just seen bursting out of a tank just minutes earlier.

Aerith frantically gave him one of her best sunny beams as she busied herself with the control panel for the door. “Hi Nanaki! Don’t worry; we’ll get you out in a moment!”

The growl vanished. “... How do you know that name?”

 _Oh_ _**hell**_ _._

“This is taking too long ...” Sephiroth murmured as he came up behind her.

Aerith glared in frustration at the keypad, then at him, then gestured to the tank. “You could _help_...”

Sephiroth gave a deep, long-suffering and annoyed sigh, then lifted Masamune and swung it twice. These strikes were _much_ cleaner than the ones that had freed Aerith from her prison, neatly slicing apart the door with a pair of diagonal cuts.

Nanaki hopped gingerly over the slabs of cut glass, trying to keep his paws away from the sharp and still smoking edges. “My thanks.” He looked up at both of them and his ears started to droop in confusion. “I don’t understand any of this ... How do you know me? ... Did my grandfather send you to rescue me?”

“Oh dear ...”

Sephiroth gave an even deeper, more annoyed sigh, then summarized bluntly: “She’s the last of the Cetra, gifted with visions of another timeline where the two of you were friends. Can we go, or is there perhaps some forlorn geranium you need to rescue from the horticulture wing?”

“No, but if we swing through, I’ll try to find a hydrangea for you!” she shot back. _“You ass,”_ was left unstated.

Nanaki’s ears pressed flat against his skull, his voice sounding increasingly small and lost “... What?”

Aerith took a deep breath. Stress and anxiety were pounding in the back of her brain like a migraine. _Time._ _I need ..._

She remembered back in Seventh Heaven, the last time she’d needed to convince someone in a hurry. _I wonder if I can do that trick again._

She let out her breath slowly and bent down, reaching out to lay a hand on Nanaki’s forehead. “It’s alright ...” She breathed and focused on _connection._

It was a woeful experience they shared right now. Dehumanized, objectified, violated, their sapience ignored as they were reduced to the level of specimens in cages. As creatures with no right to dignity, they were stared at, poked and prodded – in Nanaki’s case, physically branded with a tattoo to mark him forever. Their lives had been not only controlled, but by those who would never resort to persuasion when force would do. Persuasion was for people, not animals like them.

_I understand. I want to bring you something better._

She felt it again. That power, that glory – the eternal wisdom and love of the Goddess. Mighty as a hurricane, moving as a symphony, yet somehow as intimately familiar as a friend known all one’s life.

 _Will you speak with me?_ Yet the Goddess passed, leaving behind nothing but a feeling.

Below her hand, she saw Nanaki’s eye widen and his pupil dilate. It seemed her efforts act as a bridge between someone else and the Goddess had worked; he had clearly been gifted with some sort of knowledge. _I hope the Goddess saw fit to make it relevant._ The thought was accompanied by a faint laugh. In truth, she had no doubt.

Nanaki’s ears flicked. Sephiroth was staring at the both of them with lips slightly parted. “ _Fascinating._ ” The lone word was a baritone duet, equal parts reassuring and alarming.

Aerith smiled at Nanaki. “Convinced?”

“Hmm.” His tail gave a flick, trailing sparks. “I am convinced you are indeed of Cetra blood, certainly, and touched by the Goddess. That is enough. Greater discussion can wait until we are free of this place.”

“On that we can agree.” Sephiroth turned, his long coat sweeping behind him. “Come; the margin in my plan is narrowing. If security manages to converge on us, the bloodbath you fear will become unavoidable.” He paused as he passed a small red box on the wall, sheltered behind glass. He regarded it thoughtfully. “... Unless a suitable distraction were to slow their response time. Hmm ...”

Ignoring the small hammer provided for just this purpose, a blow of Masamune’s hilt shattered the glass. Sephiroth’s gloved hand reached out to rest lightly on the lever behind it. “Just a few more seconds until I no longer have need of elevators ... Three, two, one, and ... _ding_.” He smiled. “Now ... I always _did_ want to do this ...”

He pulled the fire alarm.

* * *

Rufus and Tseng lurched as their elevator came to a sudden halt. “What just happened?” Rufus demanded.

His question was half answered a moment later when the light overhead began to flash and a cool electronic voice announced to the cabin, “ _Elevator temporarily out of service. Please use the stairs._ ”

Tseng glanced at Rufus and extended a hand towards the speaker.

Rufus stared at the speaker in sheer incomprehension, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tseng. Did we, as a company, pay someone to install that automated message for people _already in the elevator_ when it was locked down?”

“Evidently so, sir.”

“Well _that_ was a wonderful use of our money.” He pressed the button for the top floor again a couple of times.

“ _Elevator temporarily out of service. Please use the stairs._ ”

“You have _got_ to be _kidding_ me.” He pressed the button for the next floor up.

“ _Elevator temporarily out of service –_ ”

“Are you _serious?_ ” Rufus demanded over uncaring electronic monologue.

“Try opening the doors,” Tseng suggested.

Rufus pressed the _door open_ button.

“ _As a safety measure, elevator doors will not open between floors._ ”

“I am going to fire someone.” Rufus dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his Vice Presidential keycard. “I am the second-most powerful person in this company. This keycard can override _anything_. If I have to use this on a _stupid elevator ..._ ” He inserted his keycard into the slot.

“ _Error: only emergency personnel can override elevators when they are out of service. Elevator temporarily out of service. Please use the –_ ”

“Oh shut up,” Rufus snarled. Darkstar growled, sensing his owner’s frustration.

Tseng leaned unobtrusively as he could against one of the walls, very glad of all his experience in keeping a bland expression.

Rufus shot him a sour look. “You’re looking calm.”

Tseng shrugged. “We appear to be stuck here. Since there’s not much to be done about it, I suggest we wait.” He slid down until he was seated on the floor, setting a good example. “On the bright side, from a security standpoint, an elevator in the interior of the building is probably one of the safest places we could be right now.”

Rufus stared at him. “Suspended in a tunnel above a long drop?”

“There are dozens of safety measures to prevent fatal drops in the event the cabling is cut. And we have no indication they will be. My advice is to sit tight and wait for the lockdown to be lifted. If there _are_ hostiles wandering the halls,” he added, “this _does_ prevent us from accidentally running into them.”

Rufus looked unhappy, but settled his back against the wall and slid down to the floor next to Tseng. Darkstar promptly flopped down and put his head in his lap. Rufus pet him distractedly.

“If we need something to fill the time,” Tseng said after a moment. “There _are_ one or two matters I’ve been meaning to bring to your attention ...”

* * *

“Finally ... made it,” Barret wheezed. The entirety of Avalanche had staggered out of the top landing and now were sprawled along the connected hallway, catching their breath. Wedge sat down hard, then flopped to his back with a loud _ker-flump_. Barret, for all his obvious musculature, was gasping like he was about to have a heart-attack. Even athletic Biggs was collapsed against the wall and Tifa was bent over with her hands braced against her knees. Cloud, the only one in the group with super-human enhancements, was the least devastated of the lot – and even he looked like a zombie who somehow still needed to catch his breath.

Tifa, at last, pushed herself fully upright with an effort. “Alright,” she said between puffs. “Now, where do we –”

She was interrupted by an explosion of blinking red strobes and the wail of alarms. The entire team jumped, weapons coming out and pointing in all directions.

“Aw, _hell!_ ” Barret snarled. “We’ve been had!”

“Huh?” Biggs lowered his gun slightly, his eyes narrowing as he took in the details of the flashing lights. “I don’t think so ... I think the fire alarm just went off.”

“A fire?” Tifa gasped.

Cloud, however, wasn’t paying attention. “Is that ... a _cat_?”

Down the hallway, what looked like a grey and white cat wearing a cape and crown was beckoning to them.

Wedge’s eyes lit up. “ _Kitty!_ I’m gonna follow it.”

Biggs caught him by his suspenders as he started forward. “Woah, woah, woah, hold on. You can’t just go following strange cats.”

“Strange-ass cat, too,” Barret added suspiciously. “Might be a Shinra cat.”

Wedge looked back and forth between them. “Aww, come on, guys!” He gave them a hopeful smile. “Cats are iconoclastic by nature! I’m sure one would never team up with _Shinra._ ”

“Are we just ignoring the fact it’s a _cat_?” Cloud asked aloud. There was a pause. “I’m _fine_ with cats.” That last seemed to be directed internally.

While they’d been bickering, the cat had thrown up its paws and scampered over. “ _Oh fer the love of –_ come on! Come with me if ye want tae live!”

 _Everyone_ started in shock at this.

“It _talked!_ ” Tifa gasped.

“Ah can talk, ah can sing, ah can even do a little jig if ah’m so inclined,” the cat said with exasperation, demonstrating. “And any second, this hallway’ll be full of people! Now ah can get ye out of this, but we have’tae go _now!_ ”

Avalanche looked at each other. Wedge started after the cat.

“Wedge!”

“What? He said ‘come with him if we want to live.’ Well, I want to live.”

“Hard to argue with that logic,” Tifa muttered, then started after Wedge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the language of flowers, which has been referenced several times, the geranium means “stupidity, folly.” Meanwhile, the hydrangea can mean any of: “thank you for understanding,” “frigidity,” and “heartlessness.” We hope this helps enhance your enjoyment of Aerith and Sephiroth’s banter!


	18. Forte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In music, forte (shortened to F) means, quite simply, “loud.” However, outside of music, it has also gained the meaning “a thing at which someone excels.” Forte is also the one and only dynamic novices seem capable of performing.

Nanaki’s ears pressed flat to his skull as the alarm blared and they waded their way through the various members of night-shift flooding towards the stairs. Or, at least, those standing upright waded; Nanaki was forced to dodge through a forest of rapidly moving legs, which seemed all too eager to trip over him – and then blame him for it.

“Fuckin’ expensive pets, no place in the fuckin’ workplace,” he heard one scientist mutter after blundering into Nanaki from his blind side, accidentally kneeing him in the ribs. “Fuckin’ execs and prima-donna SOLDIERs ...”

 _I would have thought we’d attract more attention._ But no; evidently ONE good thing about this horrendous alarm that seemed to stab into his skull like someone was hammering in a spike, was that it so seemed to distract everyone around them that nobody seemed to really take in the full oddity of what they brushed past. “Why humans would think, in times of emergency, it is advantageous to be bombarded with a sonic attack is utterly beyond me.”

The woman – Aerith – lurched as someone bumped into her, nearly stumbling. Nanaki’s nostrils detected a change in the acridity of her odor; even though she kept her expression neutral, her annoyance was as plain to him as if she’d bitten back a curse. “It’s not as bad as some places; at least this alarm isn’t a piercing shriek.”

“It used to be,” Sephiroth murmured. “That is, until a minor fire broke out when I was six –” He paused momentarily. “– _seven_ , it seems. It was a small fire, but nevertheless eluded containment long enough to trigger the alarm. I reacted to what was _clearly_ a sonic assault by smashing all the speakers I could find, but the remaining ones ultimately triggered a proto limit break – which, in the process, started a much bigger fire.” There was a low, nearly inaudible chuckle. “It appears some things _don’t_ change.”

Nanaki’s nostrils flared as he tried to get a read on the emotions behind that statement. The one called Sephiroth was a _strange_ one. There was an uncanny valley to him; Nanaki had not felt this degree of unease since the first time he’d seen a robot. It had moved like a creature, but its scent was _wrong._

This, if anything, was even more eerie – for the scent of a living creature _was_ there. His sharp ears picked up the sound of a heartbeat, the movement of air through lungs; all the processes of a living creature were _there_ , down to the production of a scent ... Yet that scent _didn’t change._

Nanaki lifted his nose, sampling the stream of air Sephiroth had passed through. Scent was unlike all other senses, because it left an imprint through time. A lingering after-image wound its way back along the path each person had taken, giving him a picture not just of what they were feeling now, but of what they had felt a few moments ago. For instance, Aerith, despite supposedly being Cetra – _Despite BEING Cetra_ , he reminded himself – was easily readable. There, a little way back from where they were now, was the flash of annoyance from being bumped. Now, she was feeling ... uneasy? He sensed the cold sweat of someone who had just realized something and wasn’t quite sure what to think about it.

Well, it looked like _someone_ was having a reaction to Sephiroth’s words, he thought a bit grumpily. _Sephiroth_ sure wasn’t. Sephiroth’s scent was unnervingly unchanging all along its line, save for the natural degradation to the trail over time. He should be picking up constant fluctuations as the man felt new things – anxiety, annoyance, frustration, anger, smugness, mirth, predatory focus – any of dozens of different emotions. But it was completely _flat._ He’d never experienced anything like it.

The alarm didn’t help his concentration. Every wail was another hammer blow, beating the spike into his brain. Nanaki’s shoulders heaved as he gave a half sigh, half growl. “Well, hopefully we will not be in here for long. Where are we going? I still haven’t been briefed on our escape plan.”

“Neither have I,” Aerith assured him – at least, she seemed to think it would be reassuring.

It was only because Sephiroth was on Nanaki’s good side that his singular eye caught the man lifting his chin to point forward. Why most people _insisted_ on focusing on each other’s faces was beyond him. Personally, Nanaki had found the under-arms and groin _much_ more important for conveying useful information. “This way, until the next junction,” Sephiroth murmured. “Then we are going to reverse direction; the nearest outer wall is back that way.”

Nanaki’s singular eye narrowed. “Why do we need the outer wall?”

“And why are we going _this_ way if the outer wall is _that_ way?” Aerith added.

The answer was delivered a moment later as they neared the indicated junction. Out from around the corner stepped ... _Sephiroth._ Nanaki’s eye widened.

Beside him, he scented a jolt of shock as Aerith stared in disbelief, then wheeled around to stare between the two Sephiroths. Nanaki’s own mind was reeling. They were the _same._ Exact same features, exact same clothing, exact same scent. The only thing different about them was one was covered in a chemical smell from bursting out of the tank. They even both had a white flower tucked into the straps of their harnesses. What’s more, the scent of the flowers was _identical_. One of them should have been even slightly more wilted than the other – and therefore been touched, even slightly, by the sickly-sweet scent of decay. But both were as fresh as if they’d been plucked minutes ago. _But – it couldn’t – there are no flowers – What? What? WHAT?_

Then came the eeriest part of all the events thus far. The Sephiroth beside them _did not_ acknowledge the other Sephiroth in the slightest. He just walked past him as if he didn’t exist. There wasn’t even a flick of his eyes to acknowledge the doppelganger’s presence. There wasn’t even a _lack of flick_ , like he was trying _not_ to look. For his part, the second Sephiroth acted exactly the same way. His counterpart might as well have been invisible.

“For your things,” the Sephiroth that didn’t smell of chemicals answered as he handed Aerith a zip-locked bag filled with assorted odds and ends. The interaction was so smooth, he might as well have been talking to them the whole time.

Aerith, for her part, didn’t seem to be buying it. “What?” She turned after the first Sephiroth, staring at his retreating back. “What? WHAT?”

_Oh good; it isn’t just me._

Aerith’s hand reached out almost automatically to take the proffered bag. She glanced back and forth between the Sephiroths. “Which ... one do we follow?”

“ _That’s_ –” _your question?_ Nanaki was about to say. Then he changed his mind. “... the most relevant question right now, I suppose, yes.”

The non-chemical smelling Sephiroth looked annoyed. “I told you; now we reverse direction because the outer wall is back that way.” He pointed back the way they came. “Come on.” He started forward, leading the way.

 _Ah!_ Nanaki’s keen nose caught something as Sephiroth brushed past him. A flicker of annoyance! The scent was faint, strangely muted. It was almost like trying to listen to sound underwater. But it seemed like _this_ Sephiroth _did_ give off scent cues!

 _I will have_ _**so** _ _many questions after we get out of here._

Aerith, apparently, had questions right now. Her face was scrunched up in thought and she was giving off an odor of confusion and intense contemplation. “So ...” she asked the Sephiroth beside them. “You can assume direct control over more than one body at once.”

“Of course.”

“Yes, ‘of course,’ ” he heard Aerith mutter dryly under her breath. “ ‘Why wouldn’t you assume that – can’t everybody?’ ”

Nanaki was pretty sure she’d said that enough under her breath that most humans would catch nothing more than an unintelligible growl. Sephiroth, however, smirked and Nanaki caught a faint hint of smugness and amusement.

“So,” Aerith said at a normal volume, “where is your primary consciousness right now? I mean, I know you’re here right now in some capacity, but is this where you’re focusing? Which body is your main one?”

Sephiroth turned his head to stare at her for a moment, his brow furrowing. Nanaki was still having to work hard to pick up scent cues, but it was the _look_ of a man who had just been asked a nonsensical statement, such as: 'Which body is fwibble?'

“That ... is the wrong question.”

“Huh?” Aerith tilted her head, her confusion both audible and odorous. “I guess I mean ... which one is Sephiroth?”

He didn’t answer for a brief pause, then abruptly grabbed both her wrists. Aerith stiffened and Nanaki caught a whiff of surprise, almost shock. Sephiroth held up both her hands in front of her face. “Which one is Aerith?”

 _At least she’s as bewildered as I am_ , Nanaki comforted himself as Aerith stared at the silver-haired man. “But,” she said, still struggling to understand, “you didn’t acknowledge ... yourself ... at _all_ when you passed each other – Goddess, this is confusing.”

Sephiroth seemed almost equally confused, although his was tinged with the annoyance of someone trying to explain something he considered perfectly straightforward. “When you swing your arms while you walk, does your hand wave at your hip every time it passes by?”

“What did they _do_ to you in that tank?” Nanaki asked.

Before anyone could answer, they were interrupted by a shout.

* * *

It seemed like their good fortune had come to an end. As Aerith whirled round, she was confronted by a familiar uniform. Zack had worn it, Cloud had worn a modified version of it.

_SOLDIER._

She supposed it was inevitable. Flooding the halls with people might have slowed response time, but Sephiroth wasn’t exactly subtle. It was only a matter of time until Shinra’s security forces made it to the scene.

The man leveled his broadsword at Sephiroth. “So. We meet again.”

Aerith blinked and glanced at him. Sephiroth looked blank. “Who are you?”

“I’m glad you asked.” The man gave his sword a spinny flourish, although he almost bobbled the catch. “Baker,” he said, recovering quickly and pointing the sword back at Sepiroth. “Private Baker – _formerly_ Private Baker.”

“I have literally never heard that name before in my life.”

“We met at the church.”

“Aah ...” Sephiroth’s tone sounded enlightened, even though Aerith was still in the dark. Slitted glowing eyes gave the man a thoughtful once-over. “I _thought_ you would be compatible with the treatments.”

“Well, you’re going to regret ever recommending me for the program,” the man said smugly. “You’ve caused an awful commotion around here. Your bad luck I was already in the area. I was just on my way back from uniform fitting for my second round of infusions.” He chopped his sword through the air in a series of slashes. “You might have caused my boss to run like a little bitch, but I’m not some mook any more. Now, I’m SOLDIER!”

Sephiroth scoffed. “Please. You haven’t finished the treatments, you haven’t done any of the conditioning, either physical or martial, and ...” he gestured at the sword, “do you even know how to use that thing?”

The man bristled. “Of course!” He glanced down at it, then back to Sephiroth. “Pointy-end goes in the other guy.”

Sephiroth pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, deep sigh. “A technically-correct answer that only serves to illustrate my point.” His left hand flicked out and Masamune smacked against the flat of the SOLDIER-initiate’s blade, sending it spinning out of his grip.

“Gyah!” The man dove for the broadsword, scooping it up once more. “Okay, you may have gotten the better of me once, but I wasn’t ready! I won’t be so easily –”

Sephiroth’s expression didn’t change as he performed the exact same motion, sending the blade spinning out of the man’s grip for a second time.

“ _Gyah!_ ” the man cried as he dove for the weapon again.

“By the Goddess,” Aerith murmured, as he scrambled to pull himself back into a fighting stance. “Is this actually happening?”

“In retrospect,” Sephiroth sighed, “there may be some flaws with recommending candidates with an excess of bravado for the SOLDIER program.” He glanced at her. “It’s a not out of the ordinary reaction to the Jenova cells. Developing fixations is common. Combined with the Reunion instinct drawing him to me, plus a spark of pre-existing animosity, and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

““Hey!” Baker cried. “Don’t ignore me! I’m here for a showdown! I won’t be beaten by some bleached-haired ghost with fancy contacts! I’ve never lost a fight!”

“On the contrary, you seem to have just now lost your battle with wishful thinking.”

“That’s what you’d _want_ me to think! Now, blade up, ghost; this fight isn’t over yet!”

“Yes. It is.” Sephiroth gave a flick of two fingers and a pulse of force launched the SOLDIER off his feet and through the nearest wall. “Your antics have ceased to amuse me.”

Nanaki stared, muzzle slack. Sephiroth turned to Aerith and gestured courteously towards the newly made opening. “Shall we?”

The man-sized gap passed through not just the near wall, but the one after that. This had apparently eaten up enough momentum that he _probably_ wouldn’t have gone through a third. Unfortunately, what he had hit was a window. Aerith stared in consternation as the breeze tugged at her hair. He had managed to pop the glass _entirely_ out of its frame from his impact.

A grunt made her start. The three of them hurried over to the window, Nanaki putting his front paws on the sill so he could peer over. The SOLDIER had managed to drive his blade into the wall about half a story down and was somehow _still_ hanging on.

“Persistent, isn’t he?” Sephiroth murmured, sounding mildly intrigued in spite of himself.

“You just stay there until I can get at you!” Baker yelled up at them. He tried to lever himself up, but failed. “Blast! I _knew_ pull-ups would be my downfall!”

“See?” Sephiroth said over the sound of grunts and the man’s failed attempts to pull himself up. “Fixation to the point of obsession. Barely recovered from his infusions, barely acquired his new gear, certainly not had time to familiarize himself with it. All he’s lacking is a certain ... chocobo-esque quality,” he added with a critical glance downward.

“Should we ... do something?” Aerith asked, with a helpless gesture at the dangling man.

“Certainly.” With a casual gesture, Sephiroth flicked the SOLDIER free of the window and sent him flailing into the empty air.

“Sephiroth!” Aerith demanded, exasperated.

He looked mildly nonplused. “What?”

Nanaki stared at him in shock and horror. “You _killed_ him!”

Sephiroth waved a hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. He’s SOLDIER; the Jenova-cells make them immune to death by falling. Something will break his fall, likely being broken in turn. A half hour later, he’ll wake up and walk it off.”

“You know, unconsciousness of more than a minute or so is supposedly very bad for the brain.”

“Is it? Hm.” Sephiroth turned and gestured into the open air. “Regardless, this ... entertaining distraction has actually provided an unintended degree of assistance. We have our exit.”

Nanaki paused, then leaned over the edge of the windowsill to look down. He glanced back up at Sephiroth. “Just so you know: I am _not_ SOLDIER.”

Aerith found this simple, dry statement so funny, she laughed aloud. The laughter caught in her throat in a sob. To her horror, she found herself on the verge of tears. _No, no, no ... Not now. Not when we’re so_ _ **close.**_

But that closeness was what was driving the breakdown. With the promise of getting out of this hell pit so near, with the fresh air actually caressing her face, and now with the moment of dry levity getting her to drop her guard just for a moment ... everything those walls had been holding back was beginning to crash down upon her.

The visions from the planet, grappling with the existential horror of Sephiroth’s appearance, a week of increasingly mounting stress, then the day of crisis that had never truly ended. From the moment Cloud had fallen through the roof of the church, it had been one long buildup to Platefall – and to the worst moments of her life. Moments then followed by a nightmare time, filled with ones even worse than that. She had gotten _one_ reprieve, which had given her enough fresh energy to carry on. But she’d had to recover from _so much._

And now, it was about to _go on._ She was about to leave, escape, only to be carried off to something new. Sephiroth had what he needed; now he’d want to set about his greater plan. Just like in the original timeline, she was about to be whisked away from Shinra tower into a rolling series of adventures ... adventures which, in that original timeline, had carried her onward until her death.

_I want to go home ..._

Aerith was struck by an intense longing to see her Mom again. She wanted to expunge the insidious horror of the image Hojo had planted in her brain of Ifalna’s corpse being slowly dissected under the cold, sterile light of some operating room. She wanted to see again the warm, living reality of the mother who had raised her, the one who’d always _been there_ through all of her childhood’s little trials.

_I understand why the trope exists that the wounded always cry for their mothers. I want her to just fix this, even though I know she can’t._

She realized that three not-quite human eyes were watching her. A single silver brow arched in silent query.

Aerith wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry. I just ... really need a hug. Except Nanaki doesn’t have arms and you don’t do hugs.” She took a deep breath. Oh, this was not going to go over well. “Sephiroth, I ... I _need_ to go _home._ ”

She had no leverage – she’d already promised Sephiroth what he wanted. Plus, she’d just burned through any good will she had by digging in her heels to rescue Nanaki.

She was going to have to beg. She was likely going to have to _humiliate_ herself before him to assuage his anger enough that he’d let her have this. She steeled herself for possibly having to literally get down on her knees in front of him ...

“You have four hours.” As Aerith’s eyes flew wide, Sepiroth paused thoughtfully before adding, “... Five, if Elmyra bakes.”

“... Really? ... Truly?”

He inclined his head. “Shinra should be in too much disarray to chase us and things will go much more smoothly if you have time to pack. While there is clear evidence you are capable of taking off into the wild with nothing but the clothes on you, this does not make it ideal.”

He made an upwards gesture with his fingers. “Now ...” Aerith felt a cocoon of pressure wrap around her. Nanaki’s tail lashed with a startled trail of sparks as his paws left the ground. “I think it is time we be free of this place.”

That was all the warning she had before Sephiroth took off into the open air, carrying the two of them behind him.

Aerith had always wanted to fly. _Everyone_ wanted to fly, who wasn’t deathly afraid of heights. She had an idea of what it would be like: the wind lifting her up, the world stretched below her awed gaze ...

The reality was _horrible._

Pressure slammed into her chest, forcing the air out of her lungs. The air was whipping past so fast, it was sucked out of her mouth before she could even attempt to inhale. The wind slashed at her eyes like daggers; it was quick thinking that made her close them. She wasn’t sure her eyes could even _survive_ trying to take in the sights; they might end up lacerated like broken glass. _Goddess, I’m dying. Help, help, help!_ But she couldn’t draw in breath to scream at Sephiroth to stop.

Then she felt them starting to descend and, if anything, it got _worse._ Pressure built in her skull, crushing the consciousness out of her. She felt a gritty sensation behind her eyelids and her vision was drowned in red. With a desperate plea, she grabbed at the power of the planet and wrapped it around herself and Nanaki, begging it to repair any damage to their bodies before –

Aerith sat up in the grass. Her vision was still slowly spinning, but the red tint to everything was starting to fade. The redness cleared enough for her to make out Sephiroth standing over her, looking moderately concerned – which, she realized after a beat, probably meant he was nearly frantic.

Not far away, Nanaki took a huge, gasping breath. He staggered to his feet, then shook himself, sending a puff of red fur and grass cuttings outward. “That. Was _horrible_.”

Before Aerith could think of a fervent enough agreement, she heard a particular, familiar creak: the hinges of a door she knew well, whose hinges she’d really meant to oil any day now, but just never seemed to get around to it.

“What is – Aerith? _Aerith?_ ”

“ _Mom?_ ”

Before even thinking to check if she was steady on her feet once more, Aerith had practically flown across the yard and into Elmyra’s tightest of hugs.

* * *

The side-room Tifa found herself waiting in was mercifully free of speakers blasting the alarm. It looked to be an oversized storage closet.

The rest of Team Avalanche was scattered around the room. Wedge was sitting, legs swinging, atop one of the desks that looked like they had been dragged in here because ... well, they were a _little_ banged up, but still perfectly functional. You didn’t want to just throw them out, _right?_ What if you needed another desk later!

Not far away from him, the cat in the crown was sitting on a pile of chairs. Cloud watched it suspiciously from across the room, arms folded.

“I don’t like being stuck in a room with only one way in or out,” Biggs said, even as he checked the clip on his pistol to calm his unease.

“It’s a temporary measure,” the cat assured him. “We want tae wait until the initial rush of people is cleared. Spoofing tae security systems is no problem, but we can’t hack somefolk’s bleedin’ eyeballs.”

“Then I guess we have a bit of time,” Tifa allowed.

“Good,” Barret grunted. “Because I have a few important questions. Starting with: _who and what are you?_ ”

The cat stood up on its hind legs and gave a bow. “The name’s Cait Sith; ah am a robot.”

Tifa stared at him. Well that explained ... some things. It also raised a whole host of new questions. “What?”

Cait Sith’s whiskers splayed out proudly. “That’s right! Finest in search an’ rescue technology. All the nimbleness, quick reflexes, ability tae climb, capability tae squeeze into tight spaces, low-light vision, comfortin’ purring capacity, an’ innate handsomeness of a cat, but with one distinct advantage.” He held up his paws. “Thumbs! Also an onboard A.I., wireless capability, an’ a secure connection tae a human operator,” he added as an afterthought. “But mostly thumbs!”

“That’s amazing!” Wedge cried, seeming caught up in the excitement of the moment. “ _Good_ kitty! Do you like to be petted?”

“Does the Goddess like green?” He scampered over and plunked himself in Wedge’s lap. “Ah like this one; he’s got his head on straight.”

“Wedge ...” Cloud managed as Wedge stroked the black and white fur and Cait Sith beamed. “Don’t you think there are more relevant questions right now?”

Wedge gave him a disbelieving look. “Do you know how amazing it is to find a cat that can actually _tell_ you when it’s done with petting, instead of just scratching you?”

“Oh aye, ah _could_ do that!” Cait Sith chirped, sounding enlightened.

Tifa thought it was fair time they got the conversation back on track. “So, you’re a search and rescue robot?”

“Aye!” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly with one paw. “Mahap rolled out a _little_ early due tae events ... a few more tweeks tae the personality software, maybe tone down the accent a _bit_ more ... Ah was even supposed to have a mount! Bloody great lump of a moogle, can ye imagine? But the skinny malinky longlegs couldn’t get the thing working in time.”

“The who?”

“Ma handler.” He tapped his paws together, like someone a little embarrassed poking the tips of his fingers. “Who is remindin’ me that bringin’ him up was actually the most important thing Ah should’ve mentioned first.”

Tifa felt a stab of wariness – and, from their expressions, she wasn’t the only one. “Who _is_ your handler?”

“An’ here we get tae the meat of it.” His small, fuzzy face grew serious. “Cards on the table. Ma handler’s someone deep in Shinra.”

“ _What?_ ” Biggs demanded.

“I _knew_ it,” Cloud muttered, hand reaching for his sword.

Wedge’s wounded expression was full of shock and hurt, like a pillar of his world had just come crashing down. “Shinra has cats?”

Cait Sith quickly held up his paws. “Hang on, hang on! Ah’m telling ye this so ye don’t think Ah’m trying tae pull a fast one on ye.” He looked up at all of them. “That stunt they pulled with the plate ... that crossed a line. No, that _leapt_ across the line like they were competin’ in the bloody long-jump!” He looked up at them. “Of all the loons and quines out there, yer one lot we KNOW arenae friends of Shinra ... and yer willin’ tae take action. We want tae help.” The cat abruptly looked shy and scuffed a back paw across Wedge’s pant legs. “... If ye’ll let us.”

Tifa was torn. Cait Sith _sounded_ sincere. But, he was a robot. Robots could be programed to sound like anything. _In fact,_ _programming a robot to SOUND like it’s lying when it is seems like a lot of extra work that would only allow people to discover the operator’s secrets._ The only time she could think of it being useful was if the robot was about to go rogue. _And, in that case, if it’s going outside its parameters enough to do_ _ **that**_ _, then why would a lying protocol work?_

On the other hand ... what if he was telling the truth?

Everything he’d said seemed ... _very_ believable. Surely ... _surely_ people had limits?

She could just imagine someone sitting alone in their office, growing ever closer to a breakdown at the approach of an event they knew was coming, but couldn’t figure out a way to prevent.

And then, like a perfect counter-argument that sprang into your head after the conversation was over, the sudden realization: “I could have done _this_.”

Too late.

Except, it wasn’t too late. The monumental, instant, and catastrophic loss of life had been averted. Instead, it had been transformed into a longer, slower crisis; people dispossessed instead of killed.

But the problem which caused the initial crisis remained. Shinra.

Surely ... _surely_ that was the sort of thing that called people to action?

She glanced at the one person who’d been silent this whole time. “Barret?”

The large man was sitting on one of the desks, one arm propped across his knee. For someone who often showed such grandiose emotions, his face was surprisingly unreadable. After not saying anything for a few minutes more, he finally stood. “I know what it’s like,” he said, looking down at Cait Sith. “Shinra comes in and promises: things are gonna change. They’re gonna fix things. And, things are so shitty, that just seems fantastic. Then eventually you look around and notice: things are lookin’ worse than they were before.

“But you don’t wanna go back to the way things were. That feels like goin’ backwards. All the problems Shinra fixed by movin’ in, they’d still be there. So you work to change things, see if maybe you can make the system a little better.

“Then, one day, along comes an event so horrible that it opens your eyes. You’d been thinking the system was broken, like a cracked support timber that you could brace with some strips of wood and a few nails until it can finally be replaced. But instead, it’s rotten to the core – and all you’re doing is hammering nails into pulp. You realize, if they could do somethin’ so _horrible_ – and the folks holdin’ their leash could allow it to happen with no more than a shrug – there’s no saving this system. It all needs to be torn down and something new put in its place.

“So yeah: better than maybe anyone else, I get it. Which is why, if you really mean what you say – heh.” He spread his arms. “Welcome aboard.” He leaned down and propped his good hand on his knee, putting his face directly level with the robot cat’s eyes. “And if you just made all that stuff up because it sounded good? Then I won’t just stop at tearin’ apart your little robot toy, Mr. Shinra Man. I’ll be comin’ for _you_. Because _I_ lived everything I said. Every. Single. Word.”

The room was dead silent after Barret had finished speaking. No one dared to contradict his unilateral decision after _that_ speech. Even Cloud kept his mouth shut.

Barret straightened and dusted off his trousers with a couple large sweeps of his hand. “Now! What’s the plan, Shinra Man?”

The robot cat seemed to shake itself. “Er, right! Well, ah, the hallways should be clear soon, then let’s get ye the hell outta here.”

Cloud shook his head at this at the same time Tifa blurted out, “But, Aerith! We can’t _leave_ her.”

“She’s right,” said Cloud. “She’s the entire reason we came here.”

Cait Sith stared at them. “Who?”

Biggs pursed his lips, frowning thoughtfully as he seemed to cast his mind backwards. “I think you might know her as ‘the Ancient.’”

Cait Sith did a double take, now staring at them even more slackjawed than before. “What, ye’ve been after the Ancient too?”

“What do you mean ‘too?’” Cloud demanded.

“We need tae get ye out of here. No waiting for the halls to clear; we’ve got tae get ye out _now!_ ”

“Not without Aerith!” Tifa insisted.

“Don’t ye get it? The Ancient is _gone._ Sephiroth took her.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Blew a bloody great hole inna side of the building an’ took off fast enough tae break the bloody sound-barrier. They’ve _been_ gone this entire time we’ve been gabbin’.”

“WHAT?”

The room erupted in commotion.

“Sephiroth took her?” Cloud demanded.

“You mean we climbed up all those Goddess-damn stairs for nothing?” Barret practically howled.

“Why didn’t you _say_ something?” Biggs asked, voice full of exasperation and a touch of suspicion.

Cait Sith threw up his paws. “Ah dinnae know it was _relevant!_ Ah don’t know what yer relationship with him is; Ah thought he might be carryin’ out some mission for ye while ye, I dunno, killed the president or sommit. Everythin’ AH’ve seen suggests ye and him are thick as thieves.”

Tifa stared at him. “What? No! He’s a monster!”

“Oh. Well, Ah guess this changes things. Erm, well, we _still_ really should get ye out of here before security stops draggin’ their feet. Ah can guide ye along a safer path, Ah think.”

“You _think_?”

“Look, ma handler’s not Security; he’s a desk jockey. He only ken so much.”

“And just who _is_ your handler?” Biggs asked as Cait Sith jumped down and began to scamper for the door.

Cait Sith rose up to his tiptoes, reaching high above his head as he tried to work the door handle. “Stupid, bloody, round turny nobs ... Now _that,_ Ah can’t tell ye. No offense – and it’s not even ‘cause ye threatened tae rip ma head off and shove it up ma handler’s bum,” he added apologetically to Barret.”

“He didn’t say that,” Tifa pointed out.

“It was implied! But no; he’d like a little more reassurance ye know what the word ‘subtlety’ means before givin’ away sommit that could very well get him killed if it gets out. Though it _was_ smart of you tae take the stairs up here,” he added, a bit more cheerfully as the door finally opened. “Buildings this tall, no one takes them, so they’re wired for fire safety and not security. Hardly had tae turn off anything for ye at all. But still: identity _has_ tae stay secret. Who can ken what would happen if the bleedin’ bastards on the top floor found out?”

* * *

“Reeve, Reeve, Reeve ...” Rufus mused aloud, shaking his head as if almost impressed while staring at the slate’s tiny screen. “I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.”

“Neither would I,” Tseng murmured. “Yet the evidence is right before your eyes.”

“Indeed. Which means, we must ask ourselves the question ...” Rufus tapped the list of financials Tseng had been showing him. “Is Reeve _actually_ embezzling from the company, or is Scarlet _so good_ at covering her tracks that she’s framing him for _her_ embezzlement?”

“I can’t speculate, sir; I just present the information.”

“Quite.” He sat back against the wall of the elevator. “It _does_ seem more likely than, of all the board members _not_ to be embezzling, it would be _Scarlet._ ”

“Quite possibly. Although, I feel obligated to point out, she does have a very luxuriant salary already and Weapons Development IS the most well-funded department.”

“Next to Public Safety.”

“No, sir.”

“What, really?”

“Indeed. Weapons Development churns out toys that can be used both by our forces and sold to other buyers. Public Safety still has to make do for half the year with vending machines stocked with the same random junk nobody wants instead of quality snacks.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed ... we funnel positively astronomical amounts of money into the Public Safety Department each year ...”

“It doesn’t reach the vending machines, sir.”

“Huh.”

“It’s reached almost memetic status, actually,” Tseng admitted. “Reno has taken to popping open a few of the more notorious ones and filling them with utterly random items to amuse himself.”

Rufus paused. “Reno has figured out how to open the vending machines and he uses this knowledge to put things _in?_ ”

Tseng hesitated and his face took on a pained expression. “Reno ... has random bursts of initiative.”

“You have my deepest sympathies.”

Tseng grimaced as the elevator speaker began to chirp at them again. “This is torture.”

Rufus responded more directly by throwing the wadded up bundle of his gloves at it moodily, before sinking back and rubbing his eyes. “I don’t suppose this is some elaborate scheme?” he asked with attempted flippancy, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt. The air conditioning was still running, but it had been calibrated under the assumption the door would be opening every few minutes. With two people trapped inside, continuing to generate body heat, the metal box was beginning to grow hot and stuffy. All while the cheerful voice continued to remind them, “ _Elevator temporarily out of service. Please use the stairs._ ”

“None of my enemies are this sadistic,” Tseng sighed. He hesitated, then amended, “Well, sadistic in this way. Most of my enemies are more ... direct.” Except, possibly, for Hojo, he reflected. Hojo _would_ love combining an opportunity for him to talk with a higher up, as he’d said he would, with the chance to observe what happened when two people were trapped in a small, too warm space, while their nerves were slowly frayed by aggravating noise. _Don’t start spinning conspiracy theories. That’s the last thing you need._

As Darkstar wandered over to Rufus, the wad of thrown gloves in his mouth, Tseng reached into an inner pocket of his suit. Pulling out a cigarette box, he flipped it open and sighed when he found it empty. “You know, it normally takes me an entire month to finish one of these things.”

“Probably for the best,” said Rufus. He pointed upward at the elevator’s prominent ‘No Smoking’ sign.

“You’re right,” Tseng said dryly as he put the box away. “I could have triggered the fire alarm.”

Rufus snorted, then put his hands to his ears as the speakers chirped at them again. “Why do you smoke that stuff, anyway? You have to know it isn’t good for you.”

“All Turks self-medicate. It’s the stress of the job. Your father actually encourages it. It comes out of our salary, so it’s much cheaper to the company than therapy. The habits tend to be addictive, which keeps us coming back for our high salaries. And the consequences only tend to kick in later in life, at which point we’re already generally no longer serving in the field. But Shinra does offer a fantastic medical package, keeping us tied to our corporate benefits and making it less likely we’ll risk them by going rogue. Old Turks causing problems are a recurring worry to Shinra.”

“Were you always so cynical?”

“Realistic, sir. If it comes off as cynicism, it is only a statement of my environment.”

“Then why do it if it’s so detrimental?”

Tseng gave a thin smile. “The costs on tomorrow only matter if you can make it through today.”

While they were talking, Darkstar had begun growling to himself and scratching at a corner of the elevator floor. Tseng frowned at him. “What’s he doing?”

“Ah.” Rufus’ attention was drawn to his pet and he shifted in place, looking abruptly uncomfortable. “I think that means he needs to ... you know ...”

Tseng gave the young Vice President a flat and level stare. “No.” Within moments, the Turk had popped open the emergency hatch on the top of the elevator and was climbing outside.

“You could do that the _entire time?_ ” Rufus asked as Tseng gave him a hand to help him clamber up as well. “Why didn’t you get us out of there earlier?”

“Because climbing around in an elevator shaft isn’t particularly safe and because there’s no way we could carry a dog while doing it.”

Rufus glanced down at Darkstar, who was looking mournfully up at them. “I’ll come back for you,” he promised the dog, then glanced at Tseng. “Now what?”

They were between floors, which meant the door to the next floor up was in reach. After a significant amount of prying, pulling, and Rufus’ dialect slipping twice while he descended into precise and evocative swearing, they finally managed to leverage the doors open. Far more sweaty and rumpled than either was used to looking in their suits, the two of them clambered at last onto the open floor of a hallway.

“Thank Goddess _,_ ” Rufus gasped. He straightened slowly. “We need to get to the top floor. I _need_ to reach my father.”

“Well, the elevators are clearly out of the question,” Tseng murmured. “I guess that leaves us with only one option.”

“ _No._ No, no, no, _no_ ... Oh _Goddess_ ...”

* * *

Wedge puffed after Cait Sith as he scampered down an ostentatious hallway lined with statues and suits of armor. “Man it ... must be nice having all the money in the world. Why do they even _have_ this stuff here?”

“Because they got so much money, they’ve run out of things they need,” Barret growled. “So instead of investin’ it on useful shit to help others out, they throw it around on useless shit so everybody else can know they got it and we don’t.”

“Money doesn’t work as a status symbol unless people know about it,” Cloud agreed grimly. “I’m a little surprised the floors aren’t paved with gold.”

“That’s for the presidential suite,” Tifa joked with an attempt at a smile.

“Finally!” Cait Sith reared back onto his hind legs once more and pressed the _Call_ button for the elevator.

“Hey, I thought elevators were locked down during a fire alarm,” Biggs said, frowning

“Oh, ye cannae go up in the elevators, sure. But ye can go _down_ just fine. ‘In the event of a fire emergency, elevator usage is restricted to returning to the ground floor or designated landing areas for the sake of accommodation of employees in wheelchairs or with other mobility disabilities,’” he rattled off. “Ye’d have tae be daft not tae know _that._ ”

“Oh.”

Cait Sith, however, seemed to be momentarily distracted by a conversation only he could hear. “No. No, Ah’m not gonna say that ... Because it’s _dumb_... FINE. ‘Under normal circumstances, please do not use the elevators while there’s a fire alarm unless it’s absolutely essential. Elevator shafts can suck in flames and smoke, plus there’s a chance of the electrical systems shorting out, leaving you stuck in a death trap. Always respond to alarms as if they are real emergencies, even if you suspect it’s a drill, because you never truly _know._ ’ There, ye satisfied, ye glaikit lummox?”

“At some point,” Cloud murmured, “we should compare notes on what it’s like having another person in your head.”

Cait Sith gave him an alarmed look. “What?”

“No, no, no,” Tifa assured him quickly, “He actually has another person in his head; he’s real and we confirmed this.”

“Oh ... Well then.”

They were interrupted by a distant rumbling, grinding sound. As they all looked up, puzzled, the noise suddenly erupted into the roar of howling servos. Around the corner skidded a sight that was something Wedge _never_ had wanted to see so close: not just a Shinra battle robot, but a fully kitted arsenal of war.

“Did you sell us out?” Barret demanded.

“It’s not me! Fookin’ duck!” Cait Sith yelled and dove for cover as a giant minigun arm began to spin up.

All of Team Avalanche hit the floor, finding cover behind the statuary as mass fire raked the lobby. Busts shattered, suits of armor fell over and burst apart, and marble dust was thrown into the air.

“They must have sent the bleedin’ thing after Sephiroth!” the cat yelled above the cacophony.

“Don’t just talk!” Tifa shouted. “Hit it!”

She broke from cover, dashing from statue to statue as the arsenal’s guns followed her. Cloud took advantage of her distraction to surge out of his hiding spot, charging directly at the machine with sword drawn. Barret stuck his arm around the statue he was sheltering behind, his own minigun barrels spinning up. Even Biggs was holstering his pistol and unslinging his rifle.

Wedge took a couple of quick breaths, pumping himself up for the action. _You can do this, you can do this, you can do this._ Then he popped out from behind his cover and fired. The shotgun blast scored pockmarks along the metal plating, accomplishing nothing but scratching the paint. One of the arsenal’s other guns rotated, its barrel swinging towards him.

“Ohshit.” Wedge ducked hastily back into cover as bullets raked the pedestal, shredding the suit of armor atop it. He covered his ears as the armor toppled over with a horrific clatter right next to him.

“Useless. Just useless ...” he moaned to himself. He glanced downward at Cait Sith, who was also cowering behind cover.

“Don’t lookit me,” Cait Sith told him. “Ah’m a fookin’ cat!”

“That’s right ...” Wedge said with a small half-smile. “ _You_ have an excuse.”

_Well, what did you expect? Your entire destiny was building towards being the comic relief in someone else’s story._

It had been a shock to find out Fate was real. But the _manner_ in which it had been real ...

It had made a soul-crushing sort of sense. When Wedge bought comic books with the limited amount of money he allowed himself for recreational purchases, he was always drawn to the ones where the hero was just given some great power by chance. The dorky weakling who happened to be in the right place at the right time to be doused with transformative chemicals, or picked up a weapon that imbued him with the power of the Goddess’ champion. Wedge knew he was never going to reach heights of physical or mental perfection.

Wedge had been bombarded his entire life with images of what a Real Man was like. Suave, rugged, with a triangular chest and visible muscles, like Biggs. Or a brooding bad-boy: slender, with a wiry sort of power, like Cloud. Never once had he seen an image like him. People like him were either villains or thrown in to be funny.

Wedge didn’t _need_ to be the hero. He was a simple man: he liked people, he liked his cats, and he liked contributing. He just wanted to have a part in making the world better.

At first he thought ... that’s what his destiny had been. He’d seen this scene before: a beloved comrade giving his life in an epic last stand to do what was right, his last gasping speech spurring the Real Heroes on to greater action. Then he’d come to realize ... that was Biggs. He wasn’t the badass comrade, he was the puppy the villain shot to prove how evil he was.

Funny Wedge. Awkward Wedge. _Harmless_ Wedge. The one to get shot in the butt or his pants lit on fire or to look at with concern when climbing a flight of stairs. It didn’t matter that _Barret_ had been the one wheezing like his lungs were about to explode; _he’d_ been the one they kept asking if he was okay.

Then to learn he _had_ been in a grand, cosmic story this whole time, told by Fate itself. And his part? Exactly what it would have been in the comics. Useless, pitiable comic relief. His entire life had been leading up ... to _this_.

 _“I have a new lease on life. I want to_ _**do** _ _something with it.”_

The thing was ... Fate wasn’t calling the shots any more. He didn’t _have_ to play his destined role.

_What were you at your best?_

_“There! I dub thee Sir Wedge. Now you_ _**have** _ _to fight the dragon.”_

_“I’m ... a knight?”_

For a moment suspended in that place outside time, he had become the heroic knight, battling the wicked dragon to save the city. He had become everything he had wanted to be – and not even by being gifted some super power. _He_ had been both mighty and competent. Not just great of heart, but _useful._

_I am a knight._

The spilled suit of armor was lying right next to him. There, on the marble tile, was its weapon: a lucerne hammer that had formerly been clutched stoically between its gauntleted hands. Wedge grabbed it.

Breaking cover, Wedge charged at the giant robot. Occupied shooting at the others, it didn’t seem to register him as important. _I’ll show you._ Wedge threw himself onto the arsenal’s flat base, clambering atop it to stand with feet planted even as its wheels spun. With a scream that was all adrenaline from equal parts rage and terror, he struck at the exposed joints in one of the arsenal’s weapon arms. Muscles born of hauling his weight around all his life fueled the powerful two-handed strikes as he bashed down again and again, all his strength and fury and determination focused down into the four prongs of the hammer-head. Metal bent and crumpled before the flurry of blows, the joint deforming until it jammed completely.

The machine’s upper guns waggled desperately, unable to depress enough to aim at someone standing upon its chassis. Its top half spun, seeking to clobber him with its remaining weapon arm and send him flying. Wedge ducked and swung wildly. In his haste, he forgot to check which side of the hammer he was hitting with; the hammer’s spike punched straight through the metal of the gun barrel, before ripping free.

Wedge threw himself clear as the machine spun with all four wheels. It was distracted, however, by a hail of fire from Barret and a flurry of strikes from Cloud. With its minigun arm jammed, unable to aim properly, it brought its second arm up to bear, building up a charge for a massive blast. As the cannon prepared to fire, however, the energy buildup started to bleed out through a much nearer aperture, rapidly losing cohesion and ultimately tearing the weapon apart in an explosive misfire.

Wedge realized everyone was staring at him in stunned surprise. He looked down at the two-handed hammer in equal surprise. _Did I do that?_ “I’m keeping you.”

* * *

Sephiroth stepped through the sliding doors. Part of him was standing in a garden filled with flowers, watching the tearful reunion of mother and child. Another part of him was here, taking care of a last piece of business that still, despite so many cycles worth of repetition, never quite grew tiring.

The president’s office. Some things were true in every timeline. Details changed: the specifics of the technology, whether the primary colors were light or dark, whether the floor had a ostentatious red carpet or remained bare marble, whether there were plants. But some things remained constant. The grand pillars, allowing for a huge open space, dominated by the president’s desk. The long stretch of open floor leading up to speak to the man himself, allowing time for one’s fears and anxieties to work. Time for one to feel small, dwarfed, a tiny cog in a grand machine, like you were. The desk itself was massive, intimidating, but sleek. It was filled with the greatest heights the technology of this world was able to offer; the nerve center for an empire.

Everything was designed to engender in a visitor the respect and awe the man sitting in the center of it all thought he deserved. This was a man who could lift a finger and have the finest cigars from half way around the world delivered to his pocket. This was a man who could raise a hand and have armies jump for him like puppets on strings. This was a man who could stand by his window and look down upon the world, knowing he could extract all there was of worth from it while the ants below simply labored for him as the means.

Yet still they would labor, for his ambition would drive him to always crave _more_. This was not a man who sought power and wealth for what they could do for him – although he certainly enjoyed their perks. The luxury of his lifestyle was important, certainly, and not to be given up, but he could have achieved that with a fraction of what he held today. He could lose all but a fraction of a percent of what he held in the most colossal fall of history, yet still he would remain as comfortable in his lifestyle as he was today. But still he strove for _more._ Because this man was Greed incarnate.

_Corneo was a tiny monster, content to indulge himself with what he had. This man will not be content until he sits upon the entire wealth of a drained and barren rock, dying as his air runs out, surrounded by the corpses of minions he has squeezed all last, remaining usefulness out of before the end – and can now no longer compete with him for what he has. Yet even then, he will likely look up at the stars and curse with his final breath that they have things of value he has not yet acquired._

_At least when I killed the world, I did so cleanly. This man would have its population work themselves to death, then dig their own graves so he might spare himself their corpses’ stink._

Yet man was all he was. In the end, all his power, all his control, was only as great as he could convince everyone else.

President Shinra did not bolt from his chair when he saw Sephiroth coming. He didn’t try to run; he likely knew Sephiroth as a predator who would only catch him. Instead, he simply sat back and lit for himself one of those fancy cigars. As Sephiroth moved slowly towards him, he took in a deep breath, then let the smoke come blowing out. “So.”

Sephiroth inclined his head. “You know ... I actually liked you, once,” he said conversationally as he made his way around the desk.

President Shinra took another draw from his cigar and let the smoke puff out in rings. “Spare me what I am sure is a well prepared speech, Sephiroth.” Sephiroth’s brows rose. This was an interesting take.

President Shinra sat back and made a gesture with the still smoking cigar. “Genesis was always the one for grandiose speeches.” His greying moustache twitched. “Angeal always cherished his honor, shallow enough though his concept of it proved to be. You ... you were always the one seeming listless. It was always difficult finding something that motivated you. Well ...” he placed his cigar on his ash tray, “now obviously you have found something.”

Placing his elbows on the arms of his chair, he laced his fingers, turning his chair so he was leaning forwards towards Sephiroth. “Let us be practical as well as frank. You have things that you want. While I may not know what they are, I do know,” his finger stabbed towards Sephiroth, “you are in an _excellent_ bargaining position. I ...” he sat back in his chair, spreading his hands, “have the resources of the most powerful company in the world at my disposal. If you want soldiers to take care of a little problem for you, I have them. If you want money to fund a particular project dear to you, I can provide that – and the work crews for it as well. While we may not like or even trust each other,” he smiled, “I think you can see I am of great potential use alive and none at all dead ... and I am _highly_ motivated at present.”

He picked up his cigar and brought it to his lips for another pull. “So ... what _was_ it that finally motivated you to care?” he asked with genuine sounding curiosity.

Sephiroth contemplated him for a few moments. “Would you believed ... ennui?” he asked with a slight lift to the corner of his mouth.

The president stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all ... although I suppose the scope of the answer does eclipse the scope of the question.” He inclined his head, the edges of a cold, amused smile flittering about his face. “If you are asking me what has motivated my actions over the past few days, what has provoked the intercessions that have forced you to question your understanding of the world ... The answer to _that_ would be ‘a desire for knowledge.’ Knowledge that cannot be found in _any_ of your libraries, as it has never been written down. Answers to a question no human being has ever asked.”

Shinra tapped away the ashes from his cigar, a motion to give himself time to think. His composure was, Sephiroth conceded, respectable for a man face-to-face with death.

“Knowledge, hm? Interesting ...” His voice remained cooly in control, only the slightest satisfied glimmer of his eyes showing his confidence that he was finally starting to get a handle on the situation. “Well, there’s nothing the Science department is working on that can’t be put on hold for a while. Consider it at your disposal.”

Sephiroth’s lips curled in a cold smile, but he made sure to allow some of his amusement into his voice. “Very considerate ... but I already have everything I needed from the labs. No, I’m afraid your assets are completely superfluous to my goals,” he continued, almost crooning, watching the satisfaction slowly drain out of the tycoon’s eyes as he began to realize his oh-so cleverly couched attempt at a bribe had failed. “For all your wealth and influence, there’s nothing at all you can do for me. Nothing to make your existence more appealing than your death.”

 _There ..._ NOW the mask was starting to crack, the real light of fear leaking through as the man began to realize he had dangerously misjudged who he was dealing with. Sephiroth could almost see the rapid calculation taking place about whether to stoke or hide the emotion. Yes, this was a man who would use any tactic at his disposal to get what he wanted. Cool logic, if he thought that would work. Emotional pleading, if he thought that would work. Almost paternal warmth gifted to a boy emotionally starved, if he thought that would work. All _lies._

“You’re truly here just for my head, then?” the president asked. He seemed to have decided to keep his voice cool and controlled, while he casually reached under the desk for a weapon he couldn’t hope to fire in time. “No higher aim? After I provided for you all your life?” He shook his head, snorting in disgust. “That’s some gratitude, for the man who raised you!”

The words turned Sephiroth’s normal cold satisfaction at vengeance into hot rage. Shinra _dared_ to say those words _now?_ NOW, when far away in Sector 5, he was witnessing a _real_ example of what he’d been denied and Shinra had tried to imitate with so shallow a veneer of effort? There was a reason Sephiroth habitually stabbed him in the back.

“ ‘I know what I want, and I take it.’ ” Sephiroth quoted the words from another cycle long past. “ ‘I take advantage of whatever I can, and discard that which I cannot. There is no room for sentiment or guilt.’ These are your thoughts ... and you are _brazen_ enough to speak to me of gratitude? You didn’t raise me ... you _built_ me; an assembly-line process for constructing your weapon.”

In his anger, he had been distracted enough to allow Shinra to finally reach his gun. The president yanked the gold-plate pistol out from under the desk and dragged it through the air – a laborious, futile act of defiance.

Annoyed, Sephiroth didn’t bother with displays of power. An open palm to bat the gun aside, fingers closing around the barrel as its aim deviated from his center of mass, followed by a swift jerk in the direction the gun was already moving, plucking the weapon from the startled hand. A quick motion with his other hand to release the magazine and eject the chambered round, and the disarm was completed even as Shinra's index finger tightened around a trigger that was no longer there. _Aren’t you_ _ **proud?**_

Sephiroth continued like he hadn’t just been rudely interrupted. “Or ...” he mused as, far away, his nostrils were touched by a particular scent, “perhaps a better metaphor would be _baking._ Take one narcissist with as many disorders as degrees. Add one part Mako, one part Jenova, and allow to germinate for nine months in an incubator so fundamentally _irrelevant_ that I never once heard her name. Bake for a little over a decade with just enough warmth to inspire loyalty for the company. Flavor with 2-3 friends as needed for taste. Serving size: one army, give or take.” He gave a cold smile. “All paid for out of your pocket, I’m sure. But you made back that investment many times over across the backs of Wutai.”

Stripped of options and finally helpless, the President let his lip curl in one final show of disdain. “Actually, considering the massive secondary expenses you generated over the years, we’re still trying to break even.”

An exaggeration, but one told so convincingly that Sephiroth briefly toyed with the idea of having a look at Shinra’s financials to see for himself. _There are people I can bully for that information._

But, no. Playing with the Turks would have to wait for something important. This was just lies, more lies. Lies told to save face, this time, just like there was a “good” reason behind _all_ the lies.

“Well then, it seems like my efforts served their purpose.”

The President snorted. “Are you so petty?”

Sephiroth’s pupils contracted into slits. “Petty?” A hand of telekinetic power wrapped around Shinra, yanking from his chair to hold him suspended in the air. “What are you but a tiny man?” Sephiroth crooned as he stalked closer. “Making tiny moves in your shell game that has such enormous consequences? All while wearing a persona as shiny and shallow as the gilding on this gun.” He held up the pistol and was almost surprised to see his fingers were holding only a crumpled mess of metal. “Are you _surprised_ that one of those consequences might object? That he might find the effects on his life very large indeed and might trace the ripples back to the tiny movements that were their source? Betrayal is _never_ petty.”

His fingers flicked out. The fist of telekentic force became a palm, slamming Shinra into one of the prominent pillars. As the grey-haired man wheezed, struggling to catch his breath, Sephiroth floated up to face him. “Or are you, perhaps, surprised that someone finally has the power to do something? Someone your goons cannot kill, your resources cannot bribe, and who no longer has ties you can exploit.” He spread his arms. “I am beyond your influence. I am a _god._ And your contributions to what I am today are _done._ ”

The blade slid into the president’s heart with surprising gentleness, for all the fire in his speech. _Heh ... This time he got to look death in the eyes._ Sephiroth waited, watching, until even his acute senses could detect no sign of life. He settled back to the ground.

Sephiroth took a deep breath in, then out. Not because he needed the oxygen, but for the psychological soothing provided by his control over a normally instinctive process.

He disliked this building. Things got ... _messy_ here. Unrestrained. A dangerous luxury to indulge in too often.

Fortunately, his control _was_ considerable. He glanced downward and discarded the crumpled remains of the gun.

... All things considered.

He still had one more thing to do here. This visit was _not_ entirely personal; he also had business to attend to. Time to leave a little something he’d prepared for the _new_ President Shinra

* * *

“Why ... do we have ... so many ... _stairs?_ ” Rufus wheezed as he practically crawled up the last few steps to the final landing.

Tseng took a second to pause and bend over, bracing his hands on his knees as he allowed himself the luxury of a visible display of exhaustion. Not that he had much of a choice. At least they had been part of the way up already; he couldn’t imagine climbing the _entire_ way to the top of the building.

Rufus straightened at last and hurried forward with a burst of energy seeming born from a night of being thwarted so many times and now, _at last_ , being near their goal. Tseng paused only long enough to smooth the wrinkles out of his suit before following. He caught up just as Rufus reached the first set of sliding doors.

“Mr. President,” Rufus called out as his boots thumped on the carpet and the second set of doors opened before him.

Tseng didn’t quite know why instinct made him hold out a hand to stop the Vice President. Years of surviving the nastiest of ugly situations had made it so he now processed relevant warning signs so fast, they registered in his hind-brain before conscious thought fully had time to put together the pieces.

His mind worked fast, however, and was now already starting to catch up. _Iron scent, not rust. Drip sound where there should be no leaks. Blood ... lots of it, if I can smell it from here._

His brain registered something visually out of place even as he drew his pistol. A handgun wasn’t likely to do much against expected threats – the Junon cannon might not do much against Sephiroth right now – but that only applied to _expected_ threats.

His eyes finally focused in on whatever it was that had raised alarms during their initial sweep of the room. A piece of asymmetry: something long and thin sticking out from one of the pillars where nothing like that should be.

The two men slowly circled the large desk. There, above their heads, gradually coming into view was ...

Tseng lowered his sidearm. _Shit._

The body of President Shinra hung skewered to one of the pillars, a long and unmistakable sword embedded in his chest.

Rufus stiffened slightly, but didn't say a word. Then, after a moment, his shoulders began to droop, even if the tension never did quite leave his spine. He took a step back, his hand finding the edge of the president’s swivel chair, and sank into it. He rested one elbow on an arm-rest and his hand came up to rub his mouth. Not _quite_ covering his mouth in horror, not quite resting his chin in thought. His eyes, Tseng noted, were flicking back and forth, jumping rapidly between numerous thoughts that only he was aware of while the present seemed to fade from his perception.

Tseng, whose job was firmly rooted in the present, was still taking in details of the scene. The president’s shoes were level with Tseng’s _head_. What’s more, the sword appeared to have entered his body at a shallow _downward_ angle.

_I really wish I had not realized that._

Rufus’ eyes finally focused on a thing right in front of them. He reached out, then lifted up a folded letter from the front console on the president’s desk. “... I have a letter.”

Tseng turned to see Rufus flipping open the piece of paper. Upside down, he read on the back, _To the new President Shinra._

“ ‘Congratulations on your promotion,’ ” Rufus said out loud. His voice was pitched lower; his skill at adopting another dialect let him unconsciously pick up the crooning tones of Sephiroth’s voice with eerie accuracy.

“ ‘I have decided to take a more direct interest in the workings of the Shinra Electric Power Company. Rest assured: I still find your company potentially of use. While it continues to remain so and fails to prove a significant annoyance, it is in no danger of being burned to the ground. This is not a metaphor.

“ ‘There are, however, a few changes that need to be made. Do not mistake these for a bargaining position; they are the conditions for your continued existence.

“ ‘1) At some point in the future, I will decide that the Mako reactors are to be shut down. I have not yet determined precisely when or how swiftly you will have to enact this process, but it will happen. Shinra will begin research and development of alternate energy sources. This is your chance to be at the forefront of their production and, perhaps, maintain some of your staggering degree of wealth. But know that, however swiftly you move or however slowly you drag your heels, when the deadline comes for shutting off the reactors, it will be absolute. Consider this your warning: I will not tolerate this continued exsanguination of my planet.’ ”

Tseng felt a chill travel down his spine at the casual possessiveness of that ‘ _my_.’

“ ‘2) Shinra will cease its pestering of the Ancient and those she finds significant. I have need of her for my own purposes – and distractions will not be appreciated.

“ ‘3) Hojo is to be removed as a department head and fired from Shinra, effective immediately. Ideally, he is to be blacklisted to prevent him from working in scientific fields ever again. I am sure this is within the capabilities of your professional smear campaigns.

“ ‘4) In what I am sure you will find a delightful irony, your list of responsibilities now includes the phrase ‘other duties as required.’ I will be in touch.

“ ‘Sephiroth.’ ”

Rufus Shinra set down the paper. He put his fist to his mouth, removed it, flexed his fingers as if about to say something, then returned it to its former position. “... Well.”

Something was niggling at the back of Tseng’s mind. There was still some subtle alarm, ringing in his hind-brain, that had not yet been addressed, even as Rufus started to say, “I have ... thoughts.”

_Why was the sword left behind?_

A message. Something to be seen, a piece of absolute proof of who had been here and who had done this.

But to be _left behind?_

This was an object of incredible personal significance. Masamune wasn’t just a blade; it was so closely tied to Him as to be iconic. So why abandon it, just to make a statement?

 _Black mist swirling through a cramped helicopter._ _“Sephiroth, I have your answer! For sixty-thousand lives:_ _ **anything!**_ _”_

Dots connected with a flash of intuition.

“Mr. President,” Tseng said abruptly. Rufus’ brows rose, whatever he was about to say momentarily derailed. “I think we should be having any conversations ... somewhere else.”

Rufus regarded him levelly, his face unreadable. “Why? Do you think me too squeamish to discuss business in the presence of my father’s corpse?”

“No.” Tseng gestured upwards to the sword. “I think if we want privacy ... we should not speak in the presence of that thing.”

Tseng was willing to bet money that the sword wouldn’t be staying in their custody for long. It would linger just long enough to be seen by enough people that its presence couldn’t be denied, then vanish in a moment when no one was looking at it.

Rufus looked from Tseng up to the sword. Placing his palms on the arms of the president’s chair, he pushed himself to his feet. “Send word to the remaining department heads that I want a meeting in an hour. And get somebody to take down the body.”

Tseng nodded, crisp and professional. “Of course. Right away, Mr. President.”

* * *

Hojo dragged himself laboriously, inch by inch, across the floor. His legs didn’t seem to be working right.His mind coldly broke down what was happening: the wound wasn’t intrinsically mortal; it would be the shock that killed him. Unconsciousness would be what would allow him to bleed out without resistance; once his willpower gave out, it was all over.

It was time for desperate measures.

The simplest solution was immediate – and untenable. He had one go-to answer for anything he needed to get done that stretched the bounds of conventional science. However, he promptly dismissed the idea of infusing Jenova cells into his body. It had been made clear to him that Jenova cells – likely _all_ Jenova cells – were a vehicle for his son’s consciousness. That new data, combined with the already problematic memetic nature of the virus, with its noted history of mind-altering effects, rendered it utterly nonviable.

Of the suite of remaining possibilities, most could be summarily dismissed because of high probability of failure or the time required – and time was of the essence.

The best remaining option galled him, because it meant relying on the work of another, lesser scientist. A poorer, inferior genius – at least compared to his own – but nonetheless someone who had been dear to him at one time.

He reached the requisite storage case and leveraged himself up painfully to tap in the code. He reached for the thing inside, his mind already racing ahead to the next step. Oh no, he was no variable to be written out of the equation this easily. He was a scientist; his _job_ was to observe.

He intended to be able to indulge his curiosity for a long time yet.

* * *

Palmer waited nervously in the lobby and sighed in relief as the elevator door chimed. At least they’d finally ceased with that _dreadful_ racket. What he needed right now was a nice, relaxing cup of tea. If only he hadn’t run out of butter ...

As the elevator doors slid open, his nostrils were assaulted by a truly awful stench. All he heard was an aggrieved “ _Rrrarwl!_ ” before he was bowled over by the flashing claws and snapping teeth of a _very_ unhappy canine.

_End Movement Two_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof! Didn’t intend to leave you all hanging for so long between chapters, but a series of health crises in the family made gathering the energy to write difficult. (For those not aware of it, check out the first entry in our companion fic, Apocrypha, for something we worked on in the meantime.) Then, when we DID dive back in, of course the chapter ended up being super long. 
> 
> That is actually why it’s the end of Movement Two despite it not being many chapters since the end of Movement One. In terms of pages of story written, there’s been more content than might originally appear because all the recent chapters have been super long. The big reason, however, is that each of the Movements signify a thematic shift, even if it’s only apparent to us, the writers. Movement One saw the conflict with Fate, Movement Two saw the escape from the Shinra building. What will Movement Three bring? Join us as we continue onward and we’ll see!
> 
> Hopefully it will be posted to you more often. And in shorter chapters (note: my co-author doesn’t think there will be shorter chapters).
> 
> \- The_Story_Maker


	19. Exodus

Sephiroth nibbled on a triangle of shortbread. Aerith and Elmyra had been holding a low-voiced discussion on the other side of the room before Aerith had gone upstairs – something about healing somebody, although Sephiroth found he wasn’t very interested in the specifics. Reflexively, his mind parsed the specifics of the taste he was experiencing. The baked good was refreshingly semi-sweet, a welcome change from pastries that overwhelmed the taste buds with sugar. _My senses are not so jaded,_ he thought a little smugly as he slowly worked his way through the native flavors that the semi-sweetness allowed to shine through. Elmyra had added a touch of mint to these, he noted. He hadn’t known mint went well with starches; his closest exposure to mint had been one of Zack’s cartons of ice cream. He’d have to remember this.

Movement made him turn his attention to the room’s remaining occupants. To his amusement, a dark-haired head was peeking around the corner with a sort of shyness born of fear ... but not of him. Instead, her attention seemed focused fully on the red-furred quadruped. He in turn regarded her out of his singular golden eye.

At last, the girl appeared to pluck up her courage enough to approach. “Are you a Shinra-dog?” she asked with a mix of trepidation and fascination.

One triangular ear flicked. “No, I am not a Shinra-dog,” he informed her solemnly. “I am what you see before you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The girl’s fingers fisted handfuls of her dress. “Daddy says Shinra-dogs are _bad._ ”

Another ear flicked and the red-furred child’s head tilted. “Indeed? Tell me more ...”

While the girl began to regale her new, attentive companion with what she’d overheard about the Shinra-dogs, Sephiroth turned his attention to matters of greater importance. He selected another triangle of shortbread.

There was a creak and the scuff of chair-legs against the floor as Elmyra settled at the table across from him. “Children ...” she sighed with a tired smile, gazing in the direction of the little girl now chatting animatedly with her new friend.

“Mn.” Sephiroth couldn’t quite join in her commiserating attitude; he had little enough personal experience with tiny humans whose brains weren’t finished being assembled yet. He was decently positively disposed towards this one, however. She had proven a surprising boon for his aims.

“It’s strange ...” He stared meditatively in her direction. “The child exerts no will of her own, yet has a disproportionate impact on events.”

The child seemed to become aware of the slitted Mako eyes focused on her. When she, apprehensively, lifted her eyes to his own, Sephiroth gave her a solemn nod and mouthed, “Thank you.”

The girl squeaked and attempted to hide behind the bulk of red fur.

“It’s alright,” her new friend reassured her. One golden eye turned upward to lock with Sephiroth’s. “I do not believe he means to harm us at present.”

“The cat man is scary ...”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean he intends to be scary at us.”

The girl pondered this new way of looking at things and seemed to ultimately accept this logic.

Sephiroth glanced back to see Elmyra regarding him with an odd expression. She glanced upwards towards the stairs, seemed to hesitate for a moment, then leaned forward. “Before Aerith comes back, I was wondering if I could ask you something ... personally important.”

She seemed to be psyching herself up, he realized with a spark of growing curiosity, preparing herself for something. He considered, then decided he was feeling indulgent. “Ask. Although I reserve the right to not give you a satisfying answer.”

She opened one hand on top of the table, accepting this. “You fought in the Wutai War ...” she began, instantly dashing his good mood. However, curiously, she didn’t seem to be looking at him, but inward at something else. He decided to let her finish. “It’s a long shot,” she continued, “but ...” she looked up at him. “I don’t suppose you knew my husband?”

 _Ah ..._ Sephiroth relaxed and, in his relief, a portion of his magnanimous mood returned. He sat back, casting over his memory towards events that hadn’t been relevant to him in a long time. “Hmm ... A good question. Gainsborough, Gainsborough ...” He brightened slightly. “Ah, yes, I _do_ remember him.” He frowned thoughtfully. “He used to treat me like a child ...”

Elmyra whitened slightly. “Oh dear. I ... I am _so_ sorry ...”

“Hm? _Oh_. No. No need to apologize; I _was_ a child at the time. It was actually rather refreshing,” he mused, selecting another triangle for himself.

“... Oh.”

“This shortbread is _amazing._ ”

“Oh ... thank you.” Elmyra rubbed her forehead a little, not unlike someone might try to collect themselves after spinning round in circles to the point of dizziness. “It’s good to hear about him from someone who knew him in his last days. Usher was a good man.”

“Hm?” Sephiroth glanced up. “He died? Last I saw him, he was only wounded.”

“Yes ... Aerith said he returned to the planet. I got The Letter not long after.”

Sephiroth didn’t need superior senses to hear the subtle capitalization on that phrase. Every soldier knew there was only one letter that mattered. “Ah ... My condolences.”

Elmyra eyes were now on the girl, her gaze distant and sad. “He’s been on my mind a lot lately. These last few days ... heh, these last few days, it’s like my life’s been caught in a time-loop.”

Sephiroth’s attention was arrested. “Mn?” He lifted a fine, silver eyebrow in inquiry.

She gave him a surprisingly tired smile, crow’s feet pinching around her eyes. “As I’m trying to grapple with the potential loss of a loved one, a little girl gets delivered into my life. I’ve been walking around in a cloud of deja vu; events seem to repeat ... I’m just getting older.”

“Ah ...”

Elmyra glanced up the stairs, then leaned forward across the table. “I wanted to thank you ... for rescuing my daughter. You have no idea what it’s like ... pouring a decade and a half of yourself into someone else. Then one day, they’re just ... gone.”

Sephiroth was silent.

Elmyra sat back, shaking her head with the beginnings of a self-deprecating smile creeping onto her lips.

“What ... is it like, being a mother?”

Sephiroth asked the question slowly, trying to parse out his own reasons for asking it even as the words were leaving his mouth. Elmyra was ... a puzzle. New data. It would be negligent not to try to take advantage of this opportunity while it presented itself – even if the new data she could provide _was_ ultimately irrelevant.

Sephiroth was distantly aware his own exposure to family life was ... atypical. He had gathered a vague sense of this simply from his conversations with Genesis and Angeal, although he still lacked a true schema for what normalcy actually looked like. Then there was Jenova, who was ... a whole separate matter; he ruthlessly shoved aside his complicated feelings on the issue. It was a small concern, scarcely worthy of his attention ... yet, since they apparently had time to kill _anyway_ , until the florist returned from her little jaunt upstairs ... who better than someone who had voluntarily taken on the practical burden of motherhood twice to potentially shed some light on individuals who had abdicated that responsibility?

Elmyra blew out her breath. “Well ... I don’t have an immediate answer for that. In fact,” she added after a moment’s reflection, “before just now, I doubt I could have even imagined a man asking me that question. I would have had an easier time imagining a man trying to explain what motherhood was like to _me_.” A trace of tartness entered her voice at this.

Sephiroth arched his brows in mild surprise. “How would they know?” He frowned thoughtfully. “Or are the experiences of motherhood and fatherhood truly that analogous?”

Elmyra gave him a bland smile. “I couldn’t tell you.” She pondered for a few moments, then shook her head in defeat. “I’m sorry; I don’t know how to cram over a decade and a half into a few sentences.” After a momentary pause, she amended dryly, “ ‘It’s complicated.’ ”

Sephiroth gave a snort and inclined his head. It was not lost on him how much this true, yet unenlightening answer mirrored the experience of his own one-word answer to President Shinra’s query; the irony made him accept this disappointing lack of information with little more than a mental duelist’s salute. He did not think Elmyra would appreciate him drawing his sword at the dinner table to present her the real variety.

They were interrupted by the creak of stairs. First Aerith’s boots, then the rest of her, appeared slowly navigating down the steps, while she supported her patient with one arm around her waist.

* * *

Jessie awoke to clarity for the first time in ... days? She had been swimming in and out of consciousness ever since the battle with the dragon, her energy too sapped by pain stay awake, but in too much pain to sleep comfortably. It turned out, the contents of a bathroom medicine cabinet did not have painkillers sufficient for dealing with broken ribs.

Which was why the sudden cessation of pain felt like a dream. Or like she was dead.

_They say being alive is painful; being dead is painless. Oh shit, oh shit ..._

That got her to open her eyes.

She smelled flowers. Warm baked goods. Simple, yet heavenly scents of comfort. Above her, she saw a female figure, rimmed by glowing light which back-lit her, obscuring her features with its heavenly glow.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh -_

The figure leaned in, and Jessie got a good look at the smiling face of the young woman with a pink bow in her hair. “Ah, she lives! Finally awake, are we?”

“... Lives?” Jessie tried to sit up. The woman leaning over her quickly sat back and Jessie’s eyes were immediately stabbed by the blinding light again ... a light streaming through the room’s window. Apparently Shinra had gotten the sun lamps working again. _Oh._

But, wait – Jessie pushed herself all the way upright and frantically patted her ribs. They still ached slightly, she realized now she was giving them more attention, but nowhere near what they should have felt like after being stomped on by a dragon. _How – ?_

“Easy!” The woman quickly moved to support her as Jessie reeled.

Jessie stared up at her, trying to collect her thoughts. Who _was_ this woman? This wasn’t some back-alley doc patch job; the only thing she knew of that could take injuries that severe and somehow miraculously cure someone like this was top-tier Materia healing. But that didn’t make any sense! The people who could do that were specialists with years of training, making huge salaries and living in comfort up on the plate. Why would someone like that be in the slums?

How would someone even _get_ to that skill so young? Even discounting the years of med-school – the amount of energy it would take to effect so profound a cure had to be enormous; people didn’t _have_ the capacity to channel that sort of thing without steadily working to expand their aetheric throughput.

Jessie still remembered how painful and exhausting it had been learning to use what limited Materia Avalanche had at its disposal. Every training session had left her walking away feeling painfully stretched, even sometimes to the point of something tearing, accompanied by the heat and ache like swelling – except not in a physical part of the body that could be poked or prodded. Or treated with anti-inflammatories, unfortunately. And that had just been to master shooting out a brief burst of flame or infusing someone with a jolt of energy like a cup of coffee. Parlor tricks, compared to this. “Who _are_ you?”

The woman beamed. “Aerith Gainsborough, local florist,” she announced, sticking out a hand. “We’ve ... _never_ actually met,” she added with a tone of mild surprise, doing absolutely nothing to dispel Jessie’s already deepening confusion. “You’re in my bed.”

“What? Oh ...” There was a beat of a full seven seconds before her brain prompted her that the line had offered her a perfect opportunity to toss out a teasingly flirtatious comment, far too late to say anything _now_. Jessie cursed the opportunity lost; if someone could tease, clearly they had to be fine. Of course, she _wasn’t_ fine, but that was all the more reason to distract from it with cheerful deflections.

Goddess, she _had_ been hurt ... Jessie glanced around sheepishly; yes, this room _did_ look rather lived in. There were far too many personal touches for it to be just another guest room. But, well, she hadn’t exactly been taking in details for the past ... how long had it been? “What happened? Sector 7 – those cloak things – the dragon – what-?”

“Oh boy.” Aerith pulled Jessie’s arm over her shoulder and helped hoist her to her feet. “Come on – _oof_...” She staggered slightly as Jessie’s knees thought about buckling. “This is going to be complicated. Let’s get you downstairs; I only want to have to explain this all once ...”

* * *

“In conclusion, Palmer is expected to make a full recovery.” Tseng finished wrapping up his report and stood at a sort of parade rest, hands clasped behind his back.

Rufus spun a pen idly between his fingers. “I see ... Is he too injured or too shell-shocked to continue his duties as Department Head?”

“It does not appear so, Mr. President.”

“... I don’t suppose something could be done about that?” Rufus asked a little wistfully.

“If you authorize hazard pay, sir.”

“I wasn’t serious – _hazard_ pay?” Rufus was momentarily diverted. “For _Palmer?_ ”

“No, Mr. President. For Heidegger and Scarlet, once they caught wind that covert activity was carried out against a fellow Department Head.” He gave a half smile. “It would be safer just to fire him.”

“Hmm.” Rufus sighed and put the pen down so he could massage the bridge of his nose. “I do declare; I have _no_ idea why my father kept Palmer around.”

Tseng noted the drawl in Rufus’ voice was in full effect and wondered if Rufus was aware of it. Tseng coughed. “I believe he and your father were old golfing buddies, sir.”

“Hmm, that almost makes sense ...” Rufus paused, then shook his head. “But I cannot see the old man being that sentimental.” He frowned. “Palmer _must_ have had something on him. Look into it when you have the time, would you?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“What about Hojo?”

“He appears to have stabilized.” _Unfortunately._ There was at least _one_ bit of silver lining. “As someone who has undergone radical experimentation with unknown consequences, he is currently being kept in one of the specimen containment areas under observation.” Tseng had to work very, _very_ hard not to have his lips turn up in a ruthless smile. “The standard security measures for anyone potentially compromised are being carried out now.”

“I see. Any idea just what he _did?_ ”

Tseng hesitated. “... Unknown. A number of secondary containment areas are smashed open and their contents missing; it’s unclear at this time how much of that was Hojo’s doing and how much of it was Sephiroth’s. We’re still investigating.”

“I see ...” One of Rufus’ fingers tapped rhythmically against the folded paper of a certain note. “Before the other Department Heads get here, what is your opinion on these demands to remove Hojo from his position? If it were up to you, would you advise caving or standing our ground?”

Tseng stilled. “You’re asking _my_ opinion, Mr. President? I’m not a department head.”

“Now that _is_ debatable,” Rufus drawled.

“Certainly not like, say, Heidegger.”

Rufus’ voice went cold. “ _Heidegger_ was an eager participant in my lamented father’s deranged plan to drop the plate on Sector 7. A plan whose consequences _I_ will have to deal with.” His voice was low, dangerous, and almost shook with something very close to fury. “Suffice it to say I am _not_ impressed with the man’s strategic sense.”

He stat back in his chair. “You, however, took the opportunity while trapped with me in an elevator to ... bring to my attention corruption in the company. Not your department budget, not your dental plan; a direct duty of your job that was important to bring to my attention at some point.” He raised an eyebrow in half-jesting humor. “Unless this was all part of some larger play? Are you gunning for Heidegger’s job, Tseng?”

“Quite frankly, sir, I find the idea horrifying. I’ve been elevated above my level of comfort already.”

“Oh? You prefer working in the field?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Breaking bones, making threats? I wouldn’t have put you down as a sadist, Tseng.”

Tseng’s face twitched slightly in annoyance as he gave out a long sigh. “I’m not. The appeal to being hands-on is ... control.” He glance down at one gloved hand. “ _I_ get to control how much damage these do. How tight they squeeze, how hard they punch, even whether they fly at all – and, on a good day, they never need to.” He shook his head. “Being behind a desk ... you sacrifice control for distance.”

Rufus’ face held a carefully orchestrated level of interested surprise, Tseng realized too late. Yet under its veneer was just a hint of smugness at goading Tseng into giving out more information. Irritation at being drawn out dueled with relief that Rufus had the cunning to do so.

Rufus’ eyebrow lifted invitingly, his expression changing to ‘intrigued.’ “Oh? You say ‘distance’ like it’s a good thing.”

 _Well. Might as well use the opportunity._ People were far more willing to believe something they’d extracted through effort than something just delivered to them.

Tseng frowned thoughtfully, parsing out instincts he had never put into words before. “It can be ... a comfort. When you’re orchestrating from afar, all you get delivered are the results. You can choose to read the reports about _how_ those results were achieved ... or just choose to care _about_ the results. Even if you _do_ choose to read the reports ... there’s an academic nature to them. Just dried ink on an unstained page, forming statements likely couched in very specific wording to obscure the enormity of the details they purport to convey. Far removed from the looks of terror in their eyes. What food was on their breath. The feel of recoil traveling up your arm or the sting of impact in your knuckles.” He inclined his head. “It’s a lot easier to give proper weight to your actions when there’s no barrier between you and their consequences. Distance turns people into numbers and travesty into efficiency. Or, it can.”

“Hmm ...” Rufus rubbed his chin. “Hojo,” he reminded after a few moments.

“Yes, Mr. President.” Tseng composed himself.

He hesitated for a few, long moments. This was, potentially, a once in a lifetime opportunity; it was important he use it well. “I think ...” he said carefully, “if you keep in mind a full analysis of the situation, firing Hojo is the best course of action.”

Rufus sat back in his father’s chair – _his_ chair now – and made a gesture to continue. His face was still carefully neutral, practiced in not giving away what he was thinking. “Why so?”

“For starters, you have a perfect opportunity to do so and save face. Hojo _is_ a security risk – has _made himself_ a security risk. All we need to do is cite Company Policy,” he put a slight extra emphasis on the words to signify their importance, “and no one would even bat an eye. No one would even _know_ you’re caving to any sort of demands.

“In fact, keeping Hojo at this point _would_ be a statement. It would not only be bending the rules, but in such a way that would raise numerous eyebrows and attract unwelcome attention – including from Sephiroth.”

He took a deep breath. “And, quite frankly, sir, I do not think Hojo is the hill you wish to die on.” All-in now. _This is for what you were going to do to Aerith and Reno, you son-of-a-bitch._ It took every ounce of professionalism Tseng had not to grin with icy, vicious satisfaction as he set about burying Hojo with cold, simple facts.

“The truth of the matter is: Hojo’s work has paid for itself _once_ , years ago. And, from that success, we were able to build Shinra into what it is today,” he acknowledged graciously. “Which is why he has been allowed to continue drawing his massive scientific budget.

“However, it is time to look at what he’s accomplished recently. For over _two decades,_ the majority of his results have been unstable, uncontrollable, or not replicable. He is, to put it bluntly, not a very good scientist – and it is looking increasingly likely his one major success was due to simply lucking into usable results, rather than any sign of scientific genius.

“Keeping him around, purely to infuriate the being against whom we have no actual countermeasures, when we have an easy out that no one will even question, does not make any sort of logical, tactical, or economic sense. If you _truly_ desire to take a stand against Sephiroth at some point – which I do not recommend – that can always be done later. Committing yourself to challenging him so you can preserve _Hojo_ as an asset? ... does not seem a very sound decision to me.

“My advice: fire him, then leak just enough information about events that actually happened for people to put the pieces together in the shape we want. They’ll pat themselves on the back for ‘discovering the truth,’ will be too busy congratulating themselves to dig deeper, and we get to keep our options open for the time being.”

“Hmm ...” Rufus hummed to himself again, his eyes narrowing in thought. Tseng waited a few minutes, having the good sense to keep quiet now that his argument was done. _Don’t try to push this too hard ..._

“Say I _was_ in the market for a new head of the Science Department,” Rufus Shinra drawled at last. “What would your recommendations be, if given the chance to weigh in?”

Tseng was taken aback. “ _That_ is entirely outside my job parameters, sir –”

Rufus scoffed openly at that. “Come now ... As if you haven’t gone digging into the dirty laundry of everyone who could be a potential security risk. Your suggestions won’t make or break _my_ decisions, but I want to hear the opinion of someone who knows the things the official dossiers won’t tell me.”

“Well then, if you insist, Mr. President ...” Tseng took another couple of moments to think. “I suppose, if I had to make a recommendation ... Doctor Shalua Rui.”

“Doctor Rui ...” Rufus rubbed his chin. “I know precious little about her.”

“One of my people brought her into the company years ago.” Automatically, Tseng fell into crisp briefing mode. “Her sister is a member of SOLDIER – Third Class – recruited because of her ability to perform Synaptic Net Dives in order to become a battlefield information retrieval specialist. Doctor Rui briefly joined Avalanche in an effort to find her, but had a messy falling out that left her permanently maimed, after which she was abandoned for dead. The experience has left her with a lingering resentment of the organization, which seems quite valuable given the current circumstances. One of my Turks found her, rescued her, and reunited her with her sister.

“She has strong indicators of company loyalty, due to familial ties, personal hatred of our enemies, and powerful positive experiences towards us. But, even more importantly,” Tseng smiled thinly, “she’s a good scientist – in a relatively isolated sub-department. Sephiroth is unlikely to have had any negative experiences with her. Of choices that could 1) do the job, 2) have low security risk, and 3) wouldn’t cause us more problems down the line, she would be my top pick.”

“Hmm. How are her books?”

“She engages in the usual financial chicanery to ensure she maintains the same budget for the next quarter, but I have found no evidence of outright embezzlement. Discrepancies are within typical margins.”

“Excellent. I shall consider your recommendation.” Rufus steepled his fingers, gazing across them unseeingly with a thoughtful frown. “Sephiroth will continue to remain a problem, however ...” Tseng stiffened slightly, but was relieved when Rufus continued, “Taking direct action does not seem wise at this time ... There are too many unknowns.”

His eyes focused once more on Tseng. “I’d like to remove some of those unknowns, if you’d be so kind ... Get me information on what he’s doing. I want every able bodied Turk on this.”

Tseng, struck by a hammer of deja-vu, murmured, “Yes sir. That would be ... me, sir.”

Rufus paused. He took in a deep breath, blew it out again. “Amend that. Your first priority is getting me more Turks. _Then_ using them to get me intelligence on Sephiroth. It’s high time we started replacing our losses from, well, certain recent incidents anyway. Surely you must have _some_ potential candidates.”

Tseng hesitated momentarily. “Yeees, sir.”

“Tseng.”

“None of the candidates are _perfect_ matches, but we do have at least one that technically passes the criteria.” _Barely._

“Then I trust any deficiencies will be made up for with on-the-job training.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

The door slid open. What Tseng took initially for dismissal turned out, instead, to be the arrival of the department heads. With a glance at Rufus for cues, Tseng crossed around behind the desk to take up body-guard position at his shoulder. He probably should leave, yet ... Heidegger had been known for getting ... physical. Scarlet was an enigma, so it was impossible to know which way she would jump. Reeve wasn’t likely to be a problem himself but, unexpected financials aside, had not shown much of a spine. He couldn’t be trusted to step in during a crisis. With the smooth transfer of power being of incredible symbolic importance, it was perhaps wise to have someone on hand in case things got ... messy.

As they entered, Tseng took stock of the remaining able-bodied department-heads – _Or something_ , he amended as he noted Palmer had, unfortunately, decided to brave through his injuries to make it to this meeting. There was Scarlet, hiding her thoughts behind a sultry veneer, as usual. Reeve, looking perpetually harassed, as usual. Palmer was – well, Palmer. Heidegger was looking more than a little furious. “My men are in the middle of a chase with the Avalanche assailants! Why am I being dragged away from that?”

 _Unless you, personally, have something you can add, I don’t see why the outcome will be any different with you being fed information up here versus you being fed information in a control room,_ Tseng thought, but did not say. Heidegger’s men would probably appreciate the lack of micro-management.

Rufus pressed his fingertips together and gave the department heads a thin smile. “Gentlemen – ladies,” he added with a nod to Scarlet. “If you have not been made aware through other means, I regret to inform you that my father has suffered a fatal heart attack. As in, his heart was fatally attacked. By Sephiroth. Sephiroth stabbed my father. In other news –”

The room erupted into chaos.

* * *

In Elmyra’s house, the small group sat around the table in stunned silence. Aerith had quickly realized that, while Jessie, Elmyra, and Nanaki had all borne witness to some part of the strange cascade of events, there was almost no overlap between them – so, in the end, she and Sephiroth had gone back to the beginning and explained the entire thing.

“This ...” Elmyra said after a moment, “ _does_ explain why one group of people went out to rescue my daughter and she returned with a different one.” Her brow pinched in momentary worry. “I _do_ hope they’re alright ...”

Sephiroth made a dismissive noise. “They’re fine.” His attention seemed to turn inward for a moment. “They are ... currently out of Shinra tower and in the middle of a high-speed chase on the freeway.” A pause. “Hm. They’ve acquired a cat. Cloud is not pleased.”

Elmyra still seemed to be focusing on the high speed chase. “Oh dear ...”

“They’ll be fine.” Sephiroth seemed utterly disinterested. “They’ve survived something like this before.”

Jessie held up a finger, taking a breath, then put it down again, looking sheepish. “I ... can’t even argue with that.”

“With air-support out of the picture, they should be able to handle this easily; put them out of your mind.”

 _Was that reassurance, insistence, or demand?_ Aerith thought dryly, although everybody else seemed to take it as the first.

“Alright then ...” Jessie acknowledged with a tilt of her head. “If you say so, well, it’s not like there isn’t enough to wrap our minds around already.” She flopped back in her chair with a thump and shoved her hand through her hair, letting out an explosive whoosh of breath. “Oof ... Goddess ... Fate, Ancients, _time travel_ ...? I wouldn’t _believe_ it, if I hadn’t been sucked into that place ...” She half-turned in her chair towards Elmyra. “How are _you_ accepting this? You didn’t even see those things ...”

“No, but I did raise Aerith from child to adulthood. _Cetra_ things,” Elmyra said, with a little extra gentle extra emphasis on the word by way of subtle correction, “and the weirdness that can come with it – is not something new ... at least there are no ghost-knives this time.”

Now it was Aerith’s turn to flump back in her chair, flinging up her hands. “You’ll never let me forget that!”

“Can you _blame_ me?” At Sephiroth’s inquiring eyebrow quirk, she elaborated, “One of our more memorable conversations when she was a child went a little something like: ‘Sweety, what do you have?’ ‘A knife! I took it from a ghost!’” Elmyra beamed in an exaggerated imitation of Aerith, a gently teasing twinkle in her eye.

Aerith crossed her arms grumpily, her face beginning to heat and turn red. “He was being a grumpy-pants ...” she muttered sulkily, the justification slipping out almost automatically after over a decade of use.

“... How did you respond?” Nanaki asked Elmyra, his gravelly tones equal parts amused, dismayed, and intrigued.

“I think it was something like, ‘Oh ...’ Then I went on to stress-bake enough cookies for the entire Leaf House orphanage ...”

“That made me very popular with the other kids for a few weeks ...”

“We still have the ghost-knife, I think. I kept an eye on it but, after it didn’t disappear in a few days or do anything peculiar, well ... it’s a knife. What are you going to do, throw it out? Seems a shame to waste it.”

“It’s in the cutlery drawer, somewhere. Surprisingly good for cutting radishes.”

“... I see.” Nanaki’s voice sounded dryly amused.

“You’re taking this well,” Elmyra noted.

Nanaki’s tail flicked, causing a giggle from behind him. After realizing that it was probably rude to ask someone to take part in a conversation around a table when he had to stretch to see over it, he had been gifted his own chair, which he now sat upon with elegant poise. His tail stuck out between the slats in the back, its occasional movements of much delight to Marlene, who was occupied making her own version of a headdress for Nanaki, using beads and feathers Elmyra happened to have around the house. Aerith was smugly pleased that they _had_ proven useful and clearly her childhood phase of stuffing cool looking feathers into her pockets was now vindicated – and yes she was going to ignore the long years they had spent gathering dust in a crafts drawer before this. She noted that Sephiroth did not offer to add one of his own to the mix.

“I am one of the last of my own people,” Nanaki said slowly. “So the idea that there are creatures out there beyond those encompassed by traditional assumptions is not new to me. As for the rest ... Mmn. I’ve seen enough proof of impossible things to believe the rest. Heh ...” His good eye closed. “Ironically, it’s easier to accept tales of mystic forces than this industrial reality I find myself in. I am afraid I do not like your city,” he added almost apologetically.

“Almost rotten, isn’t it?” Sephiroth murmured from his chair.

“Natural rot would be preferable to this chemical stink.”

“Rest assured, Midgar lacks for neither ... for all the effort and expense that goes into smothering the former under the latter.”

“That, I have no trouble believing.”

Jessie put her head in her hands. “I’m still having trouble taking this all in, so ... forgive me if I focus on irrelevant details.” She looked up at all of them. “... I should be _dead_. So should my parents, everyone in Sector 7 –”

“ ‘Should’ is a strong way of putting it,” Sephiroth corrected from his side of the table. “It is the destiny Fate desired for you, yes. That does not make it right or wrong.”

“I have to agree with Sephiroth on this one,” Aerith said. She shook her head. “That destiny ... the planet doesn’t want that. She wants as many people to survive and live vibrant and fulfilling lives as possible. As long as it doesn’t somehow lead to even more people dying, this _is_ the good ending for Her,” she reassured.

Jessie’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Then ... why didn’t you just ally with, um, w-with General Sephiroth from the start?”

Aerith hesitated. The one part of their story she had glossed over were the precise details of what had happened in that original cycle. Those did _not_ seem like something she should share in front of her mother. Especially considering she was about to leave with the man who had killed her. She glanced over at Sephiroth. “We ... were not aligned in that original cycle. Sephiroth and other-Aerith ... had incompatible goals. I wasn’t sure whether that still held true.”

Sephiroth arched a brow at her. “Are you convinced _now?_ ”

She held his gaze levelly. “Not entirely. But ... I am more willing to entertain the possibility than I was. Regardless of that, I gave my word. You held up your end of the bargain; I’ll do my best to hold up mine.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” he purred, sitting back.

“So, how does that ... _work?_ ” Jessie asked, seeming drawn upright once more by this sudden, new curiosity. “Is there, like ... a ritual for communing with the planet?”

“Um ...” Aerith glanced at Sephiroth once more. “Not exactly ... well, sometimes. Sort of.” She struggled for a minute, then started over. “The planet’s communicating with me all the time. Subtle things, things it thinks I need to know. Usually it’s ... mood, resonance, almost like the emotional cues you get from music. It’s like I’m hearing music all the time – from people, from different places -”

“Wait, we all have our own _theme music?_ ” Jessie sat upright. “What do I sound like?”

“Well ... sort of. It’s not _exactly_ music; that’s more a metaphor for what it’s actually like ...” Aerith trailed off at the eager expression on the young woman’s face and sighed. She took stock. Up until that point, the comfort of finally being _home_ had been the main resonance, putting Aerith’s own music at the foreground. Even Sephiroth’s perpetual grandiose chords were less prominent, barely registering unless she actively focused. However, now that she was paying attention intently to one person at a time, her own light woodwinds obligingly faded from her perceptions, allowing other people’s resonance to come to the fore.

“Guitars ...” Aerith murmured aloud. “Acoustic guitars. Just one or two. Maybe a hint of piano in the background; I’m not quite sure. It’s subtle if it is, just the occasional hint of keys ... The whole thing is slow, peaceful, yet bittersweet.”

Jessie sat back, blowing out her breath in something close to a raspberry. “Pfft. Have to say, not very impressed with your music-dar, Aerith,” she said with a quick smile and disappointed shake of her head. “Do I look like the kind of person who’d have theme music like that?”

“Of course not; you’re an actress.”

Jessie looked abruptly disquieted.

Nanaki was looking wistfully intrigued, although he didn’t quite seem to want to ask for himself, so Aerith obligingly turned her attention to him. “Drums,” she said after a moment. “The kind you beat with a stick, not snare or hand drums. The main melody is carried by a pipe of some kind – possibly a wooden flute. I could actually probably turn it into something I could hum, with a little effort; it’s quite catchy.”

Nanaki’s ears perked and he looked almost shyly pleased with himself.

Aerith glanced at Elmyra. “Mom doesn’t have her own music. The main feeling I have around her is ‘safe,’ so the music I hear for her is the same I hear for ‘home’ or for myself when the planet wants to give me an indicator that I’m in control of a situation.”

“I trust it’s clear I am _not_ just a copy or extension of my daughter?” Elmyra murmured with an amused half-smile.

“Oh no, no!” Aerith hastily agreed. “You have to understand,” she clarified for the table. “It’s not _precisely_ ‘theme music’ ... it’s cues from the planet about things it thinks are important.” She tilted her head at Sephiroth. “Take him, for example. He’s one of the few people I know with multiple pieces associated with him – because the planet thinks his various moods are _particularly_ important for me to recognize.”

“Is that so ...” Sephiroth murmured in a soft, intrigued purr.

“Yes ... Because the meaning of a particular piece _can_ change as I form associations with it.” She gave a small smile and a shrug. “Take Hojo.”

He stiffened slightly. “I’d rather not.”

“Hush; I was going somewhere with this.” It took Aerith a beat to realize her mouth had run away from her _again_ and she had just shushed the eldritch horror capable of casually breaking her in half. However, it seemed like he had taken her flash of utterly illogical bossiness in good grace, looking more amused than anything. So, not having an immediate answer for what else to do, she continued.

“When I first came to the lab, the overwhelming resonance I felt was from Jenova’s body below me. But, over time, that melody of ... creeping horror came to be associated with the lab itself. Then, as the master of that lab, to Hojo.”

She inclined her head. “Now, when you appeared to me in the lab last night, wearing what I now suspect was Jenova’s body ...” She waited until he nodded, confirming her suspicions, before continuing. “Well, at the time, _I_ thought when Jenova’s music transformed into something more energetic, with traces of your own theme, you were just exerting influence over the mood of that place and turning it into something more ... positive, I guess. The mood of our interaction was even _playful_. So ... the next time I hear that music ...” she shrugs. “It’s going to be associated with you being in a playful mood. Even if – I know now – it was originally _Jenova’s_ music. It’s not a _logical_ association; it’s emotive, intuitive.”

“I see ...” Sephiroth mused. “But this surely isn’t the only way She talks to you. You’ve mentioned ... ‘experiences.’”

“Yes ... Music is only the most common form of communication; sometimes I get more.” She made a face. “When _She_ chooses. I can get ... visions, experiences, sometimes very rarely even something as direct as words ... when the planet _decides_ I need it. Asking _Her_ for something clear – and getting it – is a lot harder.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed. “I imagine it requires a lot of concentration to extract what you need.”

“Yes – no – agh ... It’s not a matter of _willpower_ ,” she explained. “I’m a _conduit_. That’s how I do magic – I’m not _forcing_ anything; I’m acting as a channel for power and, sort of ... shaping a little bit how it comes out. But, you have to understand, I’m a conduit to a – a living force. It has a mind of its own – one far vaster ... more complicated ... than I can even really comprehend. Doing what it wants is easy. Getting it to do what I want is not the same sort of process _at all_.”

“This does get back to Jessie’s original question, though,” Nanaki pointed out. “You’ve promised to try talking with the planet; very well. _How_ will you do so?”

“The garden?” Jessie suggested hopefully. “It seems like ... the place most connected to Gaia that I’ve seen in Midgar. You have a _waterfall._ And _flowers._ In _Midgar!_ ” she emphasized.

“There’s also the church,” Elmyra pointed out. “All of the flowers here came from there ... Aerith’s presence supported them, but ... that’s the original wellspring of power.”

“No,” Sephiroth said unexpectedly. The others turned to look at him in surprise. He sat back, shaking his silver head once. “You are welcome to try; if it works, it will save me some time and effort. However, I do not expect it to succeed. I’ve had my suspicions since we spoke in Shinra tower. You say you are a conduit, yes? Well, the problem with all these places is they are the spots most connected with Gaia _in Midgar._ ”

He held up his open palm, then closed his fingers like he was squeezing blood out of a stone. “Midgar is a dead zone. That she has been able to receive any communication at all is remarkable – and speaks to the depth of her natural talent. But the questions I have,” he gave a meaningful glance towards Aerith, “cannot be answered with any sort of empathic message. They are much too complicated for anything short of words.”

He selected another piece of shortbread and proceeded to gesture with the triangle while continuing to speak. “I have grown to distrust incomplete data; sometimes it is more dangerous than no data at all. I would rather invest a little extra time ensuring we can receive a complete message, rather than risk it being garbled due to the reactors sucking the surroundings dry.” He glared upward as he took a bite, in what Aerith assumed must be the general direction of one of the reactors. Knowing him, it was probably _exactly_ in the direction of one of the reactors.

“So ... I’m still leaving Midgar,” Aerith said slowly.

“I do not need to rebel against every aspect of Fate. I won; I have nothing to prove.”

“Then where are we going?” Her mind stretched out, seeking possibilities for places she might form a deep communion with the planet.

_The Forgotten Capital – NO._

Aerith recoiled from the thought with horror. That was where she died. No, no, _no_ , _NO ..._

“I have not decided on a place as of yet,” Sephiroth mused aloud. He saw Aerith let out a subtle breath of relief. Interesting.

_Wherever we go, I must turn her thoughts away from the possibility of the Forgotten Capital._

For all her insistence she would keep her bargain with him, he did not trust her fully yet. In that place, she had set in motion his first – and most aggravating – loss. While he had no intention of killing her and granting her the sort of power over the Lifestream she had used to thwart him in the first cycle, he was still wary of what other powers she might wield in so potent and symbolic a place. He did not think she could _defeat_ him; he was confident in his ability to defeat the planet itself if it turned on him. However ... best to avoid any such temptations.

_Any place but there._

“I have a thought,” the red-furred child said unexpectedly. Sephiroth looked at him as his muzzle turned between him and Aerith. “You need a place with a strong connection to the planet ... Well, my home is home to some of the humans who have come as close as you can get to re-forging their connection to the planet, without being Cetra. It’s practically a model of the balance between nature and civilization, not going too far in either direction.” His head had a proud lift to it as he spoke, his poise so precise, he was nearly preening. “It’s a good place to start. My Grandfather, heh ... he knows _everything,_ ” he stated with a confidence that unwittingly betrayed his relative youth. “Even about Cetra. He might be able to help.”

“Cosmo Canyon ...” Aerith mused aloud.

“How did –” The red-furred child stopped himself. “Of course. Visions.”

Sephiroth, for his part, was finding the idea more and more intriguing as he rolled it around in his mind. Yes ... the knowledge in Cosmo Canyon was one resource he _hadn’t_ taken advantage of yet. He didn’t expect any information the old man possessed to be as useful as a direct conversation with the planet ... but there was no reason to ignore the possibility. Furthermore, since it _was_ a logical place to begin trying to commune with the planet, it would allow them to pursue multiple different avenues at once. Multitask.

All told, a valuable suggestion. This one was smarter than he’d realized ... an aggravating oversight, given their repeated encounters in prior cycles. The child's name was worth remembering; Nanaki, yes. _I_ _ **will not**_ _call you Red XIII. No designation of_ _ **Hojo**_ _’s will soil my tongue._

Aerith turned to look at Elmyra. “Mom, I ...”

Elmyra, however, just shook her head. “You’re an adult, Aerith,” she said gently. “I’ll be sad to see you go ... but it’s not my call to make.”

Aerith got up and moved around the table to hug Elmyra. “Thank you, Mom. I love you.” Her arms tightened for a second almost to the point of trembling. “ _So_ much.”

“Can I come as well?” Sephiroth glanced over at the dark-haired young woman with mild surprise; he’d almost forgotten she was there. She had never been particularly important in any of the previous cycles, save for a mild part at the beginning of each cycle in the events surrounding that fool on a train. It had lead him to dismiss her as almost irrelevant. Now, however, she was leaning forward with her hands upon the table.

She looked down at them as her fingers fidgeted over each other. “I want to help. All this stuff I’ve been caught up in ... it’s so, _so_ much bigger than myself. I want to _do_ something about it, try to make a difference. I can’t just go back to making home-made explosives when all this,” she unclasped her hands long enough to wave one about expansively, “is going on!”

 _ **Another**_ _person?_ Sephiroth’s original plan had been just the Cetra-girl and himself. A quick flight to a suitable site where she could commune with the planet; nice, simple, and straight-forward. This was turning into a party.

Nanaki made sense, he admitted grudgingly. If they were going to his home, it would smooth things over considerably if he were there. He hadn’t expected ... whatever this young woman was.

Sephiroth let out a deep sigh and glanced at Aerith. “She followed _you_ home; are you going to say we should keep her?”

Obviously, his attempt at wit had not been well received. Aerith stuck out her lip, pouting at him almost defiantly. “ _I_ think she could be useful.”

Sephiroth’s sigh was more exasperated this time, but he sat back with an indulgent flick of his hand. “Fine. But you have to take care of her.”

“ _Thank_ you guys, you won’t regret this.” The young woman held up two thumbs hopefully. “I guess it’s Team Sephiroth, then?”

“Erm ...” The immediate response was not enthusiastic. While Sephiroth was mildly amused, Nanaki seemed indifferent and Aerith made uncomfortable noises. “Why can’t we be ‘Team Aertith?’ ”

“It’s _his_ quest,” the young woman pointed out.

“She has a point ... Aerith,” Sephiroth teased with a purr that made Aerith narrow her eyes, her face heating amusingly, and the other young woman gulp and redden.

“Don’t make me get the hose,” Elmyra threatened jokingly.

 _That_ made Aerith recover. “ _Mom!_ ”

“Don’t you ‘Mom’ me.” Elmyra pushed her chair back from the table. “I guess you’ll need time to pack. I’ll see about getting some food set up for your first few days.”

“Horray!” the dark-haired woman shot her arms up in the air, some of her boisterous demeanor returning. “Team Sephiroth shall have snacks!”

“Snacks are good,” Nanaki murmured, his tail giving a small flick-flick.

Sephiroth gave a last internal sigh. This had _not_ been what he’d been expecting. However, he would extemporize.

* * *

Aerith had absolutely no experience packing her life into the tiny space of a backpack.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have experience leaving home – those experiences were weirdly doubled between her and other-Aerith. But all of those times, she hadn’t been able to pack. Whatever she was carrying at the time was the only thing she took with her; all the rest had to be left behind. It had taught her not to rely too much on sentimental support from objects. Oh, it wasn’t that they didn’t develop sentimental significance over time, but she tried never to become overly invested in her attachment to them. Anything she didn’t carry on her might have to be abandoned at any time – and that would be okay. That was why her most precious sentimental objects tended to be things she wore. The bangles gifted over time from Elmyra. The ribbon from Zack. The white materia from Ifalna.

But now, she had a chance to actually pack. To choose what things to take, while leaving everything else behind. It left her almost paralyzed for choice.

 _Well ... clothes, for starters._ She had magic gifted from the planet, but the planet didn’t seem to care about dirt. _Comfortable, but sturdy ..._ She selected the best candidates, folding them as tightly as possible before shoving them into the pack. Even so, they took up more space than she'd expected.

_Glad I started with this ... nothing large, then._

She should probably finish up with the essentials. Toothbrush, comb, sanitary needs ...

She was going to need to sleep sometime. She should probably pack a pillow – oh! And blankets! She added her most comforting, extra fuzzy-blanket. If Sephiroth didn’t like the cheerful colors, he could deal with it.

Her bag was already getting close to full. She glanced around regretfully at all the various bits and pieces of her life that it looked like she was going to have to leave behind.

She wondered if she could justify maybe just one or two of her favorite books. Books were ... probably a bit bulky and heavy. She glanced at the shelves. Well ... maybe just one of the ones gifted by Tseng.

He hadn’t had a hard time selling the idea to the higher-ups, she gathered. All it had taken was a judicious pitch that maybe their young Cetra would do a better job one day leading them to the Promised Land if she knew a little more about her people and Shinra had been practically falling over itself to give Tseng the okay. Personally, Aerith quietly suspected this blunt and pragmatic explanation was Tseng being overly modest. One way or the other, she had deeply appreciated the links to her heritage. The books had also been one of the few reasons Aerith hadn’t lost what grasp of the ancient Cetra language she had managed to pick up before her mother died. Yes, she could probably justify bringing this one along, even to Sephiroth.

After making her selection, she hoisted her bag over her shoulder and looked around the room. Her eyes stung. _What’s the matter with you? When you snuck out of this place a few nights ago, you knew you might never be coming back. Why is this suddenly harder?_

Of course, she hadn’t been leaving then ‘in cold blood.’ She had sneaking out to focus on, the anxiety of the moment to keep her attention fixed on the future, making it easy to abandon thoughts of the past she was leaving behind.

_I don’t know if I’ll ever see it again ... I guess ... it was good to see it one more time than I expected. That was a gift._

_I guess ... goodbye._

As she clomped down the stair, she saw Elmyra bustling around, packing food, while Jessie passed by on her phone.

“No Mom, I’m fine,” Jessie was saying, her free hand in the midst of an automatic soothing motion even though there was no way the person on the other end of the line would be able to see it. “I was just – a little injured, so I needed to be air-lifted out of the city ... No, Mom, I don’t need any money for medical bills.” She glanced at Aerith. “There was ... Well, I _kinda_ got caught up in the neighborhood watch’s efforts to defend the pillar; Biggs and Wedge are members, you know. They’re doing something special to cover the medical expenses for everyone involved ... D’aww,” she flushed a little, “that’s so sweet that you think I’m some sort of hero. Fighting against, um, evil Avalanche terrorists. But, um, could you do me a favor? Don’t go telling stories about this, okay? I’d rather the attention go to the, um. The real heroes. Also, I don’t want a lot of people bothering me; I just want to recover. You just focus on yourself and Dad. How _are_ you?”

Jessie paused, listening for a few moments. As she did, her face paled.

Elmyra paused her bustling, stepping into Jessie’s field of vision to get her attention with a two-handed wave. “If they need a place to stay,” she said quietly after Jessie had paused the conversation with, ‘Just a second,’ “this place has a few extra rooms – and power.”

Jessie’s face practically melted in relief and she mouthed ‘thank you’ before putting the phone to her ear once more. “Mom, I think I’ve arranged for a place you and Dad can stay. Yes, I know they’ve turned the stadium into an emergency shelter,” she added, raising her voice to override the burst of chatter from the other end. “It’s very nice of Shinra to look after people like that.” She made a face as she said it, but didn’t let any trace of her true feelings enter her voice. “But this place has running water, power for you to plug in Dad’s life support, and real beds. Plus home cooking – seriously, you do _not_ want to turn down this woman’s home cooking,” she confided with a bit of a laugh in her voice and a grateful glance at Elmyra. She listened for another moment, then went, “Great. I’ll hand you over so the two of you can start setting things up.”

She passed the phone to Elmyra, then made a bee-line for Aerith while the older woman began talking. “ _You_ should probably ditch your phone. Or at the very least, we need to open up the back.”

“What, why?”

“Because Shinra’s probably going to be tracking it. Plus, they’ve likely got something in place so they can listen in on every call. I need to take a look at its guts to see if I can do anything to foil ‘em.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sephiroth purred at their shoulders, making Jessie jump. “Hmm.” He eyed Aerith when she didn’t do likewise. “Knowing you can hear me coming finally explains why I can never seem to surprise you.”

“Phone?” Jessie squeaked, seeming to have forgotten how to get out all but the most important parts of the sentence. “Shinra – tracking?”

Sephiroth gave a casual wave of his hand. “What of it if Shinra tracks us? They can do nothing to me – nor will I allow them to inconvenience me by doing something to one of you. They are, at this point, a non-threat. I have given them explicit instructions not to trouble Aerith or those she finds significant and, should they decide to listen in on your calls, I will know. You need not inconvenience yourself over phones.”

“Oh.” Jessie looked mildly disappointed, but stepped back. “Hey, why do you think Shinra is going to meet your demands?”

Sephiroth smiled and spread his arms. “Fear of divine retribution.”

Aerith sighed and shook her head at his posturing. Jessie didn’t seem to get it right away and her forehead furrowed in a frown. “I suppose threatening the last of the An – er, Cetra – _could_ reasonably anger the Goddess, but that didn’t stop them last time. In fact, worrying about the Goddess hasn’t seemed to stop them _ever_ -”

“Not the Goddess.” Sephiroth had already spread his arms in suitably dramatic fashion, so he substituted by drawing his arms back in to an aggressive parade rest. “Me. I take a much more _active_ role in expressing my displeasure.”

Jessie’s eyes widened for a second and her mouth formed a wordless “Oh ...”

Sephiroth turned away, Jessie already seemingly forgotten. As soon as his back was to them, Jessie at once seized Aerith’s forearm and dragged her around the corner into the next room before Aerith could let out more than a startled, “Wh-!”

“I know, I know,” Jessie put up both hands in an appeasing gesture before Aerith could say anything more coherent. “But I just _need_ to get this off my chest,” she said, with such a dramatic bounce downward and then up, accompanied with an excited shimmy of her hips, that Aerith blinked. “Oh my Goddess; we’re going on a road trip with _Sephiroth!_ ”

Aerith was taken aback. “Well, I’m glad _someone’s_ happy ...”

“Are you kidding?” Jessie gave her a look like _she_ was the incomprehensible one. “The man’s a celebrity! A real, honest to goodness hero of the Wutai War!”

“Huh?” Aerith blinked. _Oh yeah ..._ “I guess, with everything that’s happened, that all seems like small potatoes now.”

“ _I know!_ It’s like you get to meet a rockstar, only to find out he fights _dragons!_ Except _bigger_ than that – because I actually _fought_ a dragon right in front of him and that didn’t even register on his ‘give-a-shit’ meter.”

_Wait, there was a dragon? What in Gaia’s name did I miss?_

“Like –” Jessie put both gloved hands to her chest, “I’m just a drama kid who likes explosives and computers. And I’m going on a road trip with _Sephiroth!_ ” she ... _squealed_ , Aerith decided was the correct word. “The man had entire _forums_ dedicated to him, back in the day! People wrote _fanfiction_ about him! The man had his own _action figure!_ That was part of a collection that was really hard to keep assembled because the little plastic pegs were shit and Angeal’s arms would fall off every time you bumped the shelf – which, come to think of it, probably should have been my first sign that Shinra was evil – _but that isn’t the point!_ Do you remember the PSAs the Firsts used to do?”

“No.”

“Gyah; you’re as bad as Biggs!” Jessie shook her head in exasperated dismay. “Well, _I_ have proper appreciation for this moment.”

Aerith made an effort to realign her jolted perspective. “I guess it feels different if you’ve been told your whole life that, one day, the time’s gonna come when you’ll be asked to take part in grand events – just because of how you were born.”

“I guess it would ... Well, from _my_ perspective,” Jessie spread her hands in a shrug, “I wanted to have a hand in changing the world. Now, a chance to do that in ways even greater than I ever imagined has just been _dropped_ in my lap – plus I get to do it with _a literal celebrity_. Plus, you!” she added with a cheery grin. “You seem cool.” She threw a companionable arm around Aerith’s shoulders. “Just think of it!” she entreated, sweeping her free hand in front of them as if to conjure the vision before them in their mind’s eye. “Two girls, a demi-god, and a dog.”

“I don’t think he likes being called a ‘demi’ god. And Nanaki’s really more of a cat ...”

“Really?” Jessie frowned. “His head looks more canine to me.”

“Yeah, but he’s got swiping shoulders.” Aerith made a batting motion, demonstrating. “Dogs can only move their legs back and forth.”

“Oh yeah ... huh ...” Jessie pondered for a moment, then shook her head. “Whatever; point is, this is going to be _amazing!_ ”

Aerith was saved from having to untangle her own feelings on the topic by Elmyra stepping around the corner to hand Jessie back her phone. “It’s all set up. I’ve given her my number so we shouldn’t need to communicate through you any more. If we’re lucky,” she added with a small, dry smile, “she won’t think to question how I could somehow be close enough to your ‘bedside’ that you can physically hand me the phone while somehow near enough to the city to make it to them in time to help them move.”

“Whoops! I did not think of that.”

“Neither did I, to be honest. Oh well; you’re not the only one who can lie convincingly if needed.”

“Wait, when do _you_ lie?” Aerith asked.

“I’m _apparently_ quite good at it.” Elmyra smiled placidly at her, a look that only deepened into smugness at her daughter’s horrified expression.

“Are we _ready?_ ” Sephiroth murmured from his corner of the room.

Aerith took a deep breath and nodded. As soon as her head ducked once, he was already heading outside. Aerith spared one last moment to fling her arms around Elmyra. “I love you, Mom,” she whispered in her ear. “I know I said it once before, but ... can’t say it too many times, you know?”

Elmyra hugged her back with a tight squeeze. “At least now I know it means you’re saying goodbye.” She stood back, her hands resting on Aerith’s shoulders. “Take care of yourself. Make good decisions – and try to make sure you can walk away if you make bad ones.”

“I’ll try, Mom.”

Aerith took one last look around the house, then resolutely turned on her heel and marched outside. The others were already waiting for her. Elmyra called for Marlene, who had been fussing with the new collar she’d made for Nanaki, trying to make the feathers lay flat against his fur. The little girl ran over to her, clutching at her skirt with one tiny fist, but leaning out from behind it long enough to wave an enthusiastic goodbye.

Sephiroth gave his own solemn nod to Elmyra. “Mrs. Gainsborough.” He lifted a hand.

“Wait,” Nanaki said suddenly. “How _exactly_ are we getting out of the city?”

Aerith felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “Oh no. Sephiroth, don’t–!”

But it was too late. Before she had finished speaking, they were yanked upward into the sky, and the crushing, agonizing experience of flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, in this chapter we have: an honest to goodness retcon. Not a case of choosing a detail from the OG over the Remake (or vice versa). Not a case of things going differently because of the ripple effect from Sephiroth’s involvement. Not even a case of us performing minor tweaks on the lore to make it adapt better to a fanfiction format. No, this is a genuine “this event from before the story even began played out differently” retcon.
> 
> Before the comment section blows up on this topic, let me lay out our reasoning.
> 
> Watsonian: 
> 
> We have tried to make it abundantly clear by this point that Epiphany exists in a parallel universe. While the characters may think of it as time loop, it’s been pointed out on multiple occasions that minor events have been playing out differently (Avalanche wasn’t accused of Wutaian involvement in the OG, Sephiroth had to correct himself on his age during the fire-alarm incident because in this universe he was one year older than when it happened in the original timeline, etc.) 
> 
> Of minor details to be effected, the background of the Rui sisters makes a lot of sense. In the original continuity, President Shinra staged an attack on his own people so he could whisk Shelke away to a super secret section of Shinra he was also in charge of. Except ... why? He was the master of both organizations; he could have just approved a transfer and made the paperwork disappear, no need to kill his own people. It’s also worth noting that the excuse Shinra made to Shelke’s parents about why they wanted to recruit her for SOLDIER is actually a valid tactical need (and it’s what we went with actually happening in Epiphany-verse). At that point, all that needs to change is the single choice Shalua made to the Turks’ offer in Before Crisis (easier to do if they could indeed say, “Hey we actually can reunite you with your sister - you know, your stated ‘one reason to exist’”) and tada: a new continuity is born.
> 
> Doylist: 
> 
> While Hojo states he quit Shinra in the OG, there’s no information on his successor – in fact, he continues to have an involvement on the plot as if he were still part of Shinra. All of which is frustrating if your fic will have any focus on Shinra’s activities. There’s not many still-living scientists left in FF7 by this point, leaving us starved for options. We COULD create an entirely new character ... or we could adapt this already existing scientist character, who has a convenient time gap where almost nothing is known about what she did between Before Crisis and Dirge of Cerberus, while this choice would also conveniently put her in a position where Reeve could know her and might suggest her eventual involvement in the WRO (should it ever come to exist in Epiphany’s continuity).
> 
> We’d like to state right now, our take on Dirge of Cerberus is: we’ll use what pieces of lore we believe might enrich our story, then jettison the rest. What details we take are going to be highly modified and much will be tossed by the wayside entirely. 
> 
> Finally, as a minor consideration, this also gives me an excuse to write another woman on the Shinra team. Between the Turks and the department heads, it was actually getting a little uncomfortable how heavily Shinra was skewed towards men, since it seemed to imply, “These guys are mostly men and they’re evil, while our heroes have women with them and they’re good!” Which ... seems a vast oversimplification of the situation. It doesn’t help the two token remaining Shinra women are Elena, who is a bit of a screwup (because she’s a noob), and Scarlet, who practically embodies the trope of being both hyper-sexualized and evil. Which is ... a trope not only done to death, but also more than a little problematic if it’s your ONLY example of ruthless women at the table. 
> 
> Alas, I regret to inform you of one final retcon. Shalua’s wardrobe did NOT suffer a tragic accident necessitating two perfectly good dresses be stitched together into one horrific franken-dress. This detail is VERY IMPORTANT (to me).


	20. Concerto Grosso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concerto Grosso is a baroque orchestral style, involving both a smaller group of instruments and a larger one – both playing contrasting lines, while the musical material is passed back and forth between them. The tone of such a piece can be conversational ... or confrontational.

Several miles outside of Midgar, dust swirled in the displaced air as Sephiroth lowered three limp bodies to the ground – slowly and carefully, or so _he_ thought. _Given the degree of consideration I showed for your physical frailty,_ he thought as he stared downward at the groaning, twitching forms, _you are all being_ _ **profoundly**_ _ungrateful._

Sephiroth had been aware of growing signs of distress from Nanaki and the young woman who had attached herself to their little group – and studiously chosen to ignore them. If Aerith wanted to bring them along, that was her business; he'd even bestir himself to safeguard their lives, should it prove necessary... which was not to say he concerned himself with their _comfort_. However, when he’d sensed that _Aerith_ had passed out, he’d set them down at once. Reaching their destination quickly would do him no good, after all, if the one person capable of communicating with the planet somehow ended up damaged along the way.

Now, they were making a great show of recovering, seeming to give not the slightest thought to the inconvenience they were causing him.

“Goddess ...” the dark-haired young woman choked between gasping great lungfuls of air. “That was _awful_...”

“ _I know, right?_ ” Aerith wheezed, giving what seemed to be a pointed, exasperated look at _him._ Laboriously, she began to crawl over to begin suffusing both her charges with healing energy.

“I would have thought flying would be amazing ...” the dark-haired young woman scrubbed her face. “But ... Goddess, my eyes ... my head is spinning ...”

Nanaki tottered to his feet, stood with legs planted wide apart, swaying, then sank back to the ground. “ _Nuuuuuugh_...” was all he managed. He flopped one paw over his eye.

“I feel compelled to point out,” Sephiroth said mildly, “I went _much_ slower this time.” This was met, not with gratitude, but with a chorus of dismayed groans. Irked, he added, “ _Must_ you persist in these theatrics? If I were to go much slower, we’d scarcely gain any advantage over _walking_.”

“ _Walking_ ,” Aerith said with fervent conviction, “seems like an _excellent_ idea.”

The other young woman brightened and seemed to regain some energy, bouncing upright. “Seconded!”

Sephiroth scowled at them. _Such are the wages of ambiguity_ , he thought with a sigh. “I had assumed it would be _obvious_ that I was exaggerating for dramatic effect.”

“Oh it was,” Aerith assured him, “but I _wasn’t._ ” Her patients seen to, she stood up and planted her feet. “ _This_ ,” she waved a hand to encompass all three of them, “isn’t good for a body. Pushing yourself might make you stronger, but pushing yourself until you pass out is an _entirely different matter._ Not to mention going right back and doing it again. And again. And probably a few more _agains_ , given the distance we’re talking about. Even magical healing has its limits; there’s only so many magical patches you can throw on somebody before giving their body time to recover and absorb the energy a little.”

_Damn._

Even at this dismal pace, Sephiroth could have transported the lot of them to Cosmo Canyon before any of the mortals would have strictly needed water, let alone food. Unfortunately ... Sephiroth regretfully had to concede this was no longer looking viable. If they were traveling on foot ...

“Very well. Since you are unwilling to fly-”

“Un _able!_ ”

“- Unwilling to fly, we will be raveling far more slowly – and far less directly. Going over the mountains will not be an option”

He was rudely interrupted once again, this time by a chorus of relieved groans. He stared at the trio, one eyebrow arched.

“If you’re _quite_ finished? Going over the mountains will not be an option, leaving the Mithril Mines our only feasible route. At some time prior to our arrival in Junon, where we will have to secure passage in a _floating metal box,_ I suspect most or all of you will require food, water, and sleep.”

A chorus of assent, along with the curious detail that they would, in fact, require multiple _instances_ of the aforementioned considerations. He made a note of it, even as he shot them a quelling look.

“ _Given that,_ and the fact that you are all unwilling to fly-”

**“Unable!”**

“- Unwilling to fly, our first stop is probably ...” He cast his mind back over previous cycles, calling up a map of the surrounding area, “... Kalm. There, you will procure the essentials of food and water, then we can be on our way.” The going would be _agonizingly_ slow, he thought irritably; but, he reminded himself, he could afford to be patient. Slow progress was still progress – and infinitely better than nothing at all.

The dark-haired young woman was starting to look hopeful. “... Stopping in Kalm is probably a good idea ...” She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “I kinda ... didn’t really pack supplies for a long trip when I flew out the door in the middle of the night to protect the Sector 7 pillar. And I haven’t been back home since. I have ...” she lifted a severely dented breastplate she’d been carrying slung across her back, “ _this_ , this ...” she patted her sub-machine gun, “with what unused clips I still have left, and precisely ... _zero_ explosives, I think. I should have thrown one together while I was still back at Elmyra’s.”

“Thank you for not,” Aerith said a little faintly.

Sephiroth regarded the young woman, then turned to Aerith. “Did you pack extra clothes and sleeping gear for her before we left?”

Aerith looked taken aback. “No ... I didn’t know I needed to.”

“I _said_ if you wanted to keep her, you had to take care of her.” He shook his head sternly. “I see no reason to waste time on non-essentials because of your poor planning.”

The young woman began to wilt slightly. Nanaki regarded her with his one good eye, then turned thoughtfully to Sephiroth. “You know ...” he mused in a way that made Sephiroth suspicious, “I wonder if Aerith has enough knowledge of human wilderness camping to even properly take care of _herself_.” He turned to Aerith. “What _exactly_ did you pack? Did you bring a _container_ for water?”

Aerith blinked, then seemed to brighten. “Yes!” She rooted around in her pack and came up with a water-bottle. “Never travel the slums without one,” she advised. “If you have a source of clean water, make sure to fill up, because you’ll never where you’ll find another one.”

“Mmm. What about a pot for boiling new water?”

“... No.”

“I see. Do you have a starting tool for lighting a fire?”

“Oh! I can use magic for that!”

“What about bowls and utensils to eat anything you cook over said fire?”

“... No.” She gave a sheepish smile. “Pots, bowls, and silverware were always just ...”

“Just in the house?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have some form of cutting tool?”

“I do!” the other young woman cried and helpfully drew what Sephiroth identified as a serviceable fighting blade.

“What about something to sharpen it when it goes dull from hacking at wood?”

The two women exchanged glances. “No,” Aerith admitted.

“Any sort of shovel?”

“No.”

“What about rope?”

“Do we need it?”

“Oh yes. What did you bring to protect you from the elements at night? Any sort of tent?”

“No – but I did bring a blanket!”

“One blanket. Did you bring anything to put between you and the ground while you sleep?”

“No ... It didn’t seem like another blanket would provide much padding, so I figured I’d just live with being uncomfortable.”

“It’s not for padding; it’s for warmth. No matter how thick, a blanket above you won’t be enough on its own; the ground will slowly suck the warmth right out of your bones if you don’t protect yourself. What about –”

“I believe the point is made,” Sephiroth interrupted with a sigh. “ _Very well_. Since it is clear we will have to stop for an extended shopping trip anyway, it will not appreciably delay us if _everyone_ gets what they need.”

The young woman’s face lit up and she bounced up and down with a dramatic, but quiet, _Yes!_

“ _You_ ,” Sephiroth added to Nanaki, “clearly know most out of anyone here about what it takes to keep a person alive while traveling across country, so I trust you will advise them.”

Nanaki settled down on his haunches and smiled mildly. “Of course.”

With this _new_ calculation for his timeline, Sephiroth turned his focus onward beyond the immediate next step. “After Kalm, we will set out across the marsh -” He cut _himself_ off, this time. On foot, a trip across the marsh could take days – even without accounting for time lost to harassment from the endemic Zoloms.

_Damn._

“We will acquire _mounts_ for you, and _then_ set out across the marsh.”

Aerith’s eyes lit up for the first time since they’d landed. “‘Mounts?’ Does that mean ...?”

_**Damn.** _

* * *

“As requested, sir: the damage assessment for Sector 7.”

Rufus took the offered papers from Reeve and flipped through them. What he gleaned from an initial scan did _not_ make him happy. “Was there anything else?”

“Ah ... well, sir, I’ve also drafted a reconstruction plan ...”

Rufus took that, too, scowling darkly as he took in the most important data. That number had _how_ many digits?

He set the plans aside, staring off into the middle distance as he pondered. His fingers drummed against a desk containing a certain letter, left in the wake of the death of a certain man. Internally, he felt a seething pressure, like a boiling pot must feel as it came closer and closer to bursting. _I should be mourning you. But how will I have time with this_ _**mess** _ _you left on my plate?_

“When you’re done, sir, I saw Heidegger out in the hall ... I gather he wants to meet with you one-on-one to discuss the strategic situation.”

Rufus felt a muscle in his face twitch. The temperature in the pot rose another few degrees. He kept his cool, almost. “Tell me,” he said in an icy drawl, “has Heidegger caught the terrorists he was chasin’?”

Reeve hesitated. “I ... do not believe so, sir.”

“And has the strategic situation changed in the last few hours?”

Reeve paused, then repeated the same uncertain words.

“Then Ah am content t’ let him _wait_ until Ah am better ready t’ deal with him.”

Reeve looked taken aback. He glanced towards the door, then back to Rufus, then despite himself, his eyes flicked upward to the crack in the pillar that had not yet been filled in. “I don’t like Heidegger,” he said almost gently, “But, if this is about your father, I don’t think there was anything _anyone_ could do to stop Sephiroth.”

Rufus looked at him with cold scorn. _The fool thinks I’m feeling some sort of guilt that I’m projecting onto Heidegger. He always was sentimental._ He waved a hand, sharply dismissing the notion. “Sephiroth is a wild-card. His actions were, and are, impossible t’ predict. No, it’s the consequences that _were_ predictable where Ah take issue.”

The pot was boiling over. He could almost hear the rivulets hissing down the side of the pot as his fingers drummed slowly on top of Reeve’s reconstruction plan with a rhythmic _thump, thump, thump, thump ..._ “Tell me, Reeve ... did you know my father wasn’t even planning t’ have you draft a reconstruction plan?”

The dark-haired bureaucrat flinched, incredulous. “ _What?_ Is this some kind of a joke, sir?”

“Do Ah _look_ amused?”

He watched the man’s reaction. Reeve was clearly reeling, trying to feel around him for some explanation that could possibly make sense out of the words he was hearing. “Was this ... was this because of my objections to the dropping of the plate? I haven’t been given any notice to clear out my desk –”

It hit Rufus that the man had focused on entirely the wrong part of the statement. He thought Rufus’ father hadn’t been planning to have _him_ draft a reconstruction plan. It probably made more sense than the alternative.

Rufus cut him off with a raised hand. “You misunderstood me, Reeve.” He gave him a raised eyebrow. “And really, if Ah were going t’ fire a department head, do you really think you’d be up against the wall before Palmer?”

“Well, sir, you fired Hojo, and Palmer’s still a department head ...”

“Mnn,” Rufus acknowledged unhappily. “But no, that wasn’t what Ah meant.”

“Then why ... what was he thinking?”

“Two words, Reeve: Neo-Midgar.” Rufus pushed himself out of his chair and moved to the window, looking down on the lights of the city spread below them. There were _two_ dark chunks taken out of it now, like a pizza some giant was slowly eating away. “This city was founded here because of a confluence of factors. A natural nexus of Lifestream ley lines. The fertile lands around Kalm t’ ship us food. The Mithril Mines t’ ship us material. Multiple smaller settlements t’ provide us with labor, which grew together t’ form our undercity slums.”

“Yes, sir ... I know all this.”

“Then _you_ , as head of Urban Development, must know better than almost anyone else how this location is now _hemorrhaging_ money. You know how much lighter-than-steel material is used for this city in the sky – and how fighting t’ keep everything maintained and repaired is constant race against entropy. Ever since Mithril Mine shut down, we’ve had t’ import materials from further and further afield. T’ make matters worse, a population this size is a hole you pour food down – and the deadzone around Midgar is growing. The area around Kalm is still rich from the ley lines rolling through it, but we’re already feeling the pinch as the nearest farms shut down.

“That isn’t even accountin’ fer local troubles. Unrest, an increase in attacks as Mako-mutated monsters become more common – useful for consolidating power, but every gil spent on _Public Safety_ still comes outta our bottom line.”

Reeve didn’t do a good job of hiding his discomfort at Rufus saying the quiet part out loud. Rufus thought he’d be used to people talking openly about the most efficient means of manipulating the public by now. Of course, his lack of spine had caused more than one person to look down on him over the years.

Rufus’ white-gloved fingers drummed slowly on the table. “Midgar was a publicity coup in its time, however, my father had begun t’ re-evaluate its current importance. You might have wondered why my father and Heidegger hatched a plan with so catastrophic a price tag. One that would cost – well, you know _exactly_ how much it would cost t’ recover from,” he said with a humorless chuckle, gesturing at the papers. “Well that was because my father had already written Midgar off as a loss, where the only concern was what positive effects might be squeezed out of it. The plan was t’ build a new city, a mako-powered metropolis, in a land of boundless energy: the Ancients’ vaunted Promised Land.”

“ _What?_ Mr. Vice – Mr. President,” Reeve quickly corrected, “not to speak ill if the dead, but what you’re describing is _insane_! We don’t even know if the Promised Land even _exists_! Much less how to find it!”

“Uncoverin’ its location hinged on the cooperation of the last surviving Ancient – an Ancient who, Ah will remind you, was not currently in our custody or being particularly cooperative at the time the plan was green-lit. However, efforts _were_ being made t’ secure her.” Rufus smiled coldly. “Efforts that were nearly undone because her unpredictable behavior – a known trait – placed her squarely in Sector 7 at the worst possible time. But luck smiled on us and she was secured, along with her oh-so important consent. You might think that fortune rather than planning had spared this dangerously inept plan ... Except now, Sephiroth has her. The one person in the entire world we _dare_ not pressure t’ give her back.”

Rufus turned away from the window and gave Reeve a cold smile. “So tell me, Reeve, why should Ah have confidence in the strategic sense of a man for whom the success of his entire operation hinged around a piece of intelligence _he did not currently possess?_ ”

Rufus turned back to the window, clasping gloved hands behind him. “The consequences of the carelessness of these two men fall squarely on _my_ plate. Rescue efforts, a refugee crisis, rebuilding – everything they had planned t’ leave behind, _Ah_ have t’ deal with. And t’ top it all, you don’t need to be a genius t’ realize how all this is gonna go. This will be twice, now, a plate has fallen; once t’ accident, once t’ ‘terrorism.’ Even if no one comes t’ believe this is Shinra’s doin’, public perception is gonna shift. Midgar is gonna cease being seen as a safe place t’ live. People are gonna start moving away from Midgar, not to it – a fine thing when you wanna populate a new city, t’be sure, but now it’s gonna be _entirely_ revenue lost. Because of the reckless optimism of these two men, their ‘grand plan’ has left me trapped in a decaying city with no way out.”

The material of his gloves creaked as his hands curled into tight fist. Without consciously realizing it, his voice subtly shifted back to his father’s cultured dialect. “I _finally_ have a chance to prove I’m worthy of the Shinra name, that I’m not just some spoiled, rich _child_ who got shoved into a fancy chair because his father owned the company ... and they _sabotaged_ me.”

There. Finally, pressure in his skull was starting to die down, even if he still seethed internally. _Thank you, father, for the inheritance._

He became aware of Reeve still standing behind him when the man gave an awkward cough. Rufus turned his head just enough to see Reeve out of the corner of his eye; the man seemed to be off balance, as if he were struggling to wrap his head around the perspective he had been confronted with. “I suppose you’re right,” he said in a tone that sounded almost hopeful, “and all those poor people –”

“Don’t be naive, Reeve,” Rufus drawled. “This is why Scarlet makes fun of you in meetings.” Sacrificing that many lives would have been nothing. _Wasting_ them was unforgivable. The comment did remind him of something, however. “Of course ... you’re not as spineless as you’d have us believe.”

“Sir?”

 _He does a good job of sounding genuinely confused at least._ Rufus turned around. “I know what you’ve been getting up to,” he tossed out, just to see how Reeve would react.

The results were more gratifying than he could have expected. Although Reeve’s expression didn’t change at all, his face drained of color. Rufus thought he caught a sheen at the man’s temples as Reeve began to sweat.

 _Now isn’t_ _**that** _ _interesting ..._

Tseng never _had_ confirmed whether Reeve was actually embezzling from the company or whether Scarlet had framed him. Considering how busy the ‘Auditing Department’ had just become, Rufus was never likely to get an answer. He’d decided to try his own method of probing almost on a lark, but it seemed Reeve was up to _something_ at least. _Well I’ll be damned ... I didn’t think you had the balls._ Rufus’ opinion of him ticked up a notch.

“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Reeve stammered.

Rufus put up a hand and turned back around. “Honestly, Reeve, I don’t care. I’m actually vaguely impressed.”

“... What?”

“Come now ... you can’t think you were the only one.” Rufus smiled, knowing the window would reflect the expression so Reeve could see it. “My only concern is to make sure the efficacy of the Office of Urban Development remains unaffected. You have a lot on your plate, Reeve. I would hate for you to become ... distracted.”

Rufus watched Reeve’s reflection swallow. “Well, Mr. President, I still don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’ll endeavor to make sure Urban Development keeps running smoothly.”

Rufus couldn’t suppress a condescending smirk. “Of _course._ ” He turned his gaze back to the window proper. “You may go, Reeve.”

 _Well, today has been enlightening,_ he thought as he heard the door slide closed behind him. _Although ... would this mean Scarlet’s books are clean because she’s_ _ **actually**_ _the only department head not embezzling?_

Rufus was suddenly much less certain in his assumptions.

 _Oh well. Reeve’s obviously up to something._ _**Everyone** _ _is up to something. What I told him was just good advice in general._

* * *

Reeve stood just beyond the corner of the hallway leading to the president’s office, heart hammering. Rufus _knew_ about Cait Sith? And he didn’t _care?_

_What? What? What?_

_“Come now ... you can’t think you were the only one.”_

Holy hell, had the rumors that Rufus had been in the dog-house because he’d had secret dealings with Avalanche been TRUE?

_What sort of complex game IS this?_

* * *

“Sir?” Rufus’ secretary said to him. “Heidegger is still waiting outside ... and he’s looking more and more impatient ...”

 _Good_. Rufus didn’t let any hint of his sentiment show on his face. Instead he lifted a stack of paperwork and tapped its edges on the table so the pages were all perfectly aligned. “Does he have an appointment?”

“No, sir ... Mr. President ...”

“Well then. As such a veteran employee, he should know the policy for walk-ins: my door is open only in times between essential meetings. As you can see, my time is _extremely_ crowded trying to keep this company afloat. If he wants to schedule for himself a piece of it, then he can go through the clear and apparent process of doing so. Send in my next appointment, please.”

As his secretary disappeared, Rufus sighed and looked down at the thin stack of papers he’d just straightened. It was time to tell his new head of the Science department she had just gotten promoted – and was about to have a whole lot of messes dumped at her feet that would now be her responsibility to clean up. _There appears to be a lot of that going around._

He sincerely hoped she would be able to rise to the challenge; one of the things his inquest into the Science Department had turned up was the depressing lack of alternate candidates. Hojo had been a micromanager and had not fostered an environment that rewarded initiative. Rufus could now see why the first item on Tseng’s list of useful qualities had been “can do the job.” As far as he could tell, Doctor Rui had been spared the majority of Hojo’s attention thanks to the relatively isolated status of her sub-department.

Cybernetics was something of an odd duck as far as the rest of the Science Department was concerned. Requiring too much engineering knowledge to be part of Biological, but also too much biological interaction to be moved to the Robotics division of Weapons and Development, its personnel existed in their own little bubble, tucked away in a corner of Science.

It had the rare “honor” of being one of the few Science sub-departments that actually had to worry about budgetary concerns while being in no danger of being completely defunded. Although too useful to shut down completely, its advances were often overshadowed by the more successful SOLDIER program. Cybernetics were simply more expensive to build, more expensive to implement, and more expensive to maintain. Something that needed intensive surgery and extensive therapy in order to use properly, plus often required manual repair if it was damaged, simply couldn’t compete with enhancements whose use became literal second nature, and which healed on their own. The two factors that kept the department steadily chugging along were cybernetics’ usefulness as prosthetics and the fact they _could_ be used to do different things from SOLDIER enhancements.

“Ah, Doctor Rui, come in.” _Speaking of ..._ Rufus thought as the scientist entered the room. One of the things that had always caught his attention the few times he’d interacted with the doctor was how _striking_ she had managed to remain, despite being one of the most heavily maimed individuals in upper management. One eye remained permanently shut behind her glasses and one sleeve of her lab-coat hung empty. However, she sailed into the room with perfect confidence and an air that seemed to suggest she’d respond to any queries with a look of surprise and the reply, “What disability?”

As the woman approached the desk, Rufus steepled his fingers in front of him, a little trick his father had sometimes employed to give the subconscious impression he was a man with plans within plans, one cog of which had now come to stand before him. “I suppose you’re wondering why I called you up here.”

“Actually, Mr. President,” she responded promptly, “I have an inkling.”

Rufus paused, momentarily diverted. _Let’s see where this goes ... Where her mind jumps to first will be enlightening._ “Oh?”

Doctor Rui nodded firmly and reached into one of the overlarge pockets of her labcoat with her good hand to fish out a set of papers. “I’ve heard about the loss of the J.E.N.O.V.A specimen –” she rattled off the letters like someone used to pronouncing them as an acronym, “and it doesn’t take a genius to quickly realize what that will do to our SOLDIER program. I suspect Biological is going to start growing cultures immediately – I’m not sure if any samples survived the lab damage, but we can surely start drawing samples from existing SOLDIERs and growing working cultures from those.” Her good shoulder gave a shrug. “It’s a virus, viruses make more of themselves; that’s how viruses work. We don’t need an original sample, that just makes things easier.

“But that’s going to take time. Every culture is going to need to be carefully screened for complicating mutations; the last thing we want is a culture grown from one of the SOLDIER samples to develop into a strain with wildly different effects. That _is_ the advantage of continually using cells from the original sample, after all: stability, predictability.

“So, what does Shinra do in the meantime?” Shalua slapped the slightly rolled set of papers down on the table. “Enter the Cybernetics Sub-Department! Why else would you ask me, the sub-department chief, here at this time _except_ to explore the viability of using cybernetic enhancements as an alternative to SOLDIER? Well, here’s my report. I’ve taken the liberty of translating most of the technical jargon, so you don’t need to be a scientist to understand it; a more precise version is available if you’d prefer.”

Rufus took the report and flipped it open despite himself, beginning to give it a quick skim. “You wrote this since last night?”

“No sir; I _refined_ it since last night. It’s been an emergency scenario I’ve been considering for some time.” She took a breath and Rufus recognized the air of someone about to launch themselves into their pitch. “The short version is: I’ve compiled several scenarios for you to potentially explore, but some seem more viable than others. While the Turks are an _excellent_ showcase for the efficacy of heavily cybernetically enhanced specialists, Shinra has continually balked at the cost of mass-producing such individuals. However, from a cost-benefit standpoint, we could actually see greater gains from outfitting a wider selection of troops with a few minor enhancements instead.

“The most promising options are currently healing enhancements. Not only do they see casualties return to the field faster _and_ increase the operating lifespan of troops, you also _effectively_ get enhancements to strength and endurance – and get to offload the cost onto training! I cannot, of course, include the latest checkups from a certain perpetually unmarred Head of Weapons Development –”

 _Why not?_ Rufus wondered.

“– ethical concerns of confidentiality and all that –”

_Ah, so it’s the Turks’ department._

“– but I _can_ say we’re getting good returns on the Micro-Materia model.”

“And what is that, for the layman?”

“Oh, it’s very simple. Just a piece of cyberware containing tiny, stripped-down version of the healing Materia, suspended in fluid to avoid ... mishaps. The recipient enters into a trance to activate it, typically before they go to sleep each night after suffering trauma, and _boom_ : faster recovery time. It doesn’t provide combat regeneration or anything like that, but anything that doesn’t kill a soldier right away won’t – and anything that doesn’t involve the loss of a body part will likely heal clean.”

“How is this considered a cybernetic?”

“Because of the secondary implant. It’s generally advised to take out a section of intestine and add an implant to more efficiently extract and store the nutrients used in the healing process and the ones shown to be in deficiency in our studies of long-term Materia users.” She coughed. “Speaking of, it is _strongly_ advised you do not combine use of this implant with other Materia use. You can activate one or the other at a time, but people recovering via use of this implant should be kept away from other Materia usage until such tine as they are no longer in recovery. That is its one downside.”

“I see.”

“The full report is here. For the secondary implant, I’ve included projections for both fully metal cyberware options or bioware alternates –”

“Those are an option?” Rufus interrupted in spite of himself.

“Oh yes.” Shalua’s voice grew slightly tart. “One would _think_ bioware would be Biological’s baby ... But, since bioware is implanted surgically instead of ... well, something more _transformative_ , like Biological is so in love with at the moment, _apparently_ it’s my department.”

“Why haven’t I heard more about this before now?”

Shalua sighed. “Bioware is more expensive in the short-term,” she stated bluntly. “Full cyberware just requires you to set up a factory and you can begin churning out parts. Bioware needs to be custom-grown from your own tissue in order to cut down the chance of rejection. Precious few organizations have the biological facilities for the process – Shinra being chief among them. So it’s not very common.

“However, if you _do_ it, bioware pays for itself over time. Since it’s completely biological, once it’s integrated, it uses your body’s own system for healing itself, just like any other organ or limb. That means dramatically lessened maintenance costs, since small problems will fix themselves given time.

“From an _industrial_ standpoint,” she wrapped up, “cyberware is easier to mass produce, but bioware is less burden on the patient over time – which makes it better for our own people,” she added meaningfully, “since we’re paying the costs of their health care while they’re working for us. And _both_ options have a _significantly_ lower rate of failure or dramatic complication than SOLDIER.” She spread her good hand with a dry half smile. “Hence why so many department heads schedule surgery with me.”

“Yes, I know something about that. Father had a replacement heart, lungs, and liver, I believe ...”

Shalua frowned. “Yes, which is why I was so surprised to hear he’d suffered a heart-attack. His heart was artificial – it _should_ have prevented just that sort of thing from occurring. I don’t know why a member of my team wasn’t invited to the autopsy to determine what went wrong.”

 _Damn._ He hadn’t thought of that. He put on his most charming of smiles and clasped his hands in front of him. “... Suffice it to say,” he said, his voice slipping back into a warm drawl, “a heart-attack is just the public story. The truth is ... more private. But, with an eye on his legacy, Ah wanted t’ preserve his good name, since a small fiction at this point wouldn’t do nobody no harm.”

“Oh ... I ... I see.” She frowned, then asked, “Then ... why not say a stroke? The artificial heart would do only so much to prevent that.”

 _Damn, that would have been better._ “Too horrific. There are certain stigmas attached – you understand.”

“... If you say so, sir.” It appeared his attempts at manipulation with a smile were not entirely successful, because she still looked dubious. However, she kept her opinions to herself and agreed with him like a loyal employee. _Good enough. In fact, possibly for the best; incompetent minions lead to more work later down the line._

Rufus sat back in his chair. Two fingers did a little flick with his pen clasped between them,mirroring another of his father’s habitual gestures – albeit modified to work without the old man’s cigar habit. It was a good way to catch the eye, he’d found, drawing attention before he spoke. “Well. Congratulations. You have the distinction of being the first person t’ come t’ me with a solution instead of a problem since I took office.” _One to a problem I hadn’t even considered yet. I’ve been busy,_ he justified, a little sourly. “But that isn’t actually why I called you in.”

Step one had been to lean back, project an air of warm casualness that would stick in the subconscious, even if it was only for a moment. Step two was to lean forward again, drawing attention to the gravity of what he was about to say next. He hoped he didn’t actually just look like he was on a rocking horse. He leaned forward.

“As you might be aware, the Science Department is currently in need of a new Department Head. I would like to offer you congratulations on your promotion.” His eyes narrowed even as her one good eye began to widen. “And a warning. Ah will speak plainly; you have inherited what Ah might charitably call ‘a right mess’ ... Should you rise t’ the challenge, the position is yours. Should you break under the pressure, Ah will find somebody else and take full advantage of whatever positive changes you have managed t’ effect. Ah am neither invested in your success nor your failure – although success means Ah have to deal with fewer inconveniences. Have Ah made myself clear?”

“I ... I don’t know what to say.”

“A ‘yes’ or ‘no’ at this point would be appropriate.”

“... Yes. Mr. President.”

“A sensible addition.” He drew the stack of papers she had left on his desk towards him and smoothed out their curling edges. “I shall examine your proposal regarding alternatives to the Jenova project. In the meantime, I suspect the amount of work you have to do has just increased.”

“Yes, Mr. President.” She hesitated, then added, “Speaking of ... What do you want me to do about Professor Hojo?”

Something about the way she asked the question caught his attention; his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just ... He’s still in containment. But, there’s a lot of ... shall we say, _conditioned obedience_ to Hojo in the Science Department. So, because the information wasn’t classified, someone ended up telling him about his termination.”

“I see. You think his presence would be a destabilizing element.”

“That ... wasn’t where my mind went initially, but it’s probably true. But no, it’s more that ... well ... he’s been asking about references.”

Rufus blinked. “Ah.” He thought about it a moment, then smiled. “Unfortunately, the vast majority of Professor Hojo’s work for us _is_ classified,” he drawled. “Although you may let him know, in such time as we are contacted by potential new employers, we will be happy t’ confirm his duration of employment and salary at the time of dismissal.”

Shalua’s eye widened. “I see,” she all but choked. “Well, that’s _one_ way to determine if he has developed any dangerous new abilities.” She paused thoughtfully, then announced, “I think I’ll send in someone to tell him while I observe with security standing by.”

Rufus’ lip twitched as she turned to take her leave. Before she fully reached the door, however, a final thought occurred to him. “One more thing before you go. Unrelated to our current conversation, I actually do have a personal question.”

He noted the pause as she let out a long, quiet exhale and the way her shoulders tensed as if bracing herself. But, when she turned back around, a neutral, inquiring smile was back on her face. “Yes?”

“Why does the head of Cybernetics not have full functionality in her left arm and eye?”

The bracing vanished. “Oh!” She relaxed slightly and gave him a wry smile. “Modern medicine does have limits, even if we’re seeking to push those limits every day. Cybernetics need to build on existing infrastructure. The best time to treat severe injuries is right after they occur; unfortunately, I spent most of that window of time crumpled on the dirt floor of a prison, one known more for the corruption of its management than for its sanitary conditions.”

She opened her left eye, turning her head slightly to make clear she was looking at him through it. “Shinra doctors were able to salvage enough that I can see light and movement. While I could conceivably replace it with a cybernetic, there’s no guarantee it could manage anything better. There was just too much damage to the surrounding area, allowed to set too long without treatment. If the eye gets worse, I’ll roll the dice and replace it – and hope I get lucky. But, as it stands, I’d rather not undergo a rather delicate piece of surgery when I’ve learned to live with it.

“As for the arm ...” Unselfconsciously, she shrugged the labcoat off her left side to reveal her cybernetic arm, connecting to a stump just below her shoulder. “Again, there are limits. Prosthetics below the elbow are easy, all things considered.” Her fingers came to rest right above the prosthetic’s elbow and tapped, indicating position. “Touch here on your own arm. Wiggle your fingers. Sense how you can feel the tendons move? The framework for all your fingers – except the thumb – anchors above the elbow. You need a fair bit of therapy to retrain yourself on how to use your thumb, but sensors that can hook up to measure finger movements easily. You can even program the signals to do other things, like the signal for moving the ‘index finger’ to trigger the firing of a gun.

“Prosthetics above the elbow are much harder. Far more needs to be automated, more programming needs to go into extrapolating the signals. The more complex the system, the more places for the programming to run into errors.” She lifted her left arm, flexing it at the elbow and then curling her fingers. “There’s another problem too. We haven’t yet figured out how to program a prosthetic for tactile input. I can _see_ what it’s doing, but I can’t _feel_ what it’s doing. That makes it very hard to judge position, speed, and, _especially_ , pressure – and the stronger the prosthetic, the more damage that could potentially do. Since I’d rather not crush someone’s hand, break a keyboard, or accidentally slug someone in the face with several pounds of metal, I tend to only use it in emergencies. Like the eye, it’s a _hell_ of a lot better than nothing. But my goal is to make sure other people have a _better_ experience than mine.”

“I see. Thank you for your bluntness.”

“Unrealistic expectations benefit no one, at least as far as medicine is concerned.”

“I shall remember that in our future interactions.” It wasn’t very business savvy of her, he reflected as he waved her away with a second dismissal. But marketing wasn’t her job; her job was to craft new product by running Science. Let that dragon in charge of Marketing handle trying to sell whatever she came up with.

As Shalua exited, the opening of the door emitted a brief burst of Heidegger’s voice, raised in positively incandescent anger, before it slid shut again, cutting off the sound mid rant. Rufus glanced up, smiled, then picked up the reports Shalua had left on his desk. Settling back in his chair, he began to read.

* * *

Not far outside the walls of Midgar, the dejected little party of Team Avalanche slowly regrouped. Shinra’s pursuit had continued down into the lobby, out of the building, and into a rolling, high-speed vehicle chase through the – mercifully empty, after all the chaos in Sector 7 – city streets. Shinra had appeared to lose track of them at an arching overpass, which had turned out to be under construction and ended abruptly. Possibly, Shinra hadn’t considered anyone would be stupid enough to deliberately take this route – in which case, the joke was on them, because no one in Avalanche had been familiar with that part of the city and the choice had been entirely accidental.

They had ditched the vehicles – including, much to Cloud’s regret, the brand new motorcycle he had instantly fallen in love with along with Zack’s enthusiastic internal agreement – and used the construction cranes as a means to climb down on the far side of Midgar’s wall. It had seemed at the time like the surest way to evade Shinra’s manhunt, but now as they gathered together, morale was low and it looked like some were coming to regret that decision.

“Now that we’re out of Midgar, it ain’t gonna be easy gettin’ back in again,” Barret fretted. “‘Least not ‘til the heat’s died down. What’s Marlene going to do without her dad?”

“She’ll be fine,” Tifa tried to soothe him. “Elmyra said she’d look after her, didn’t she? Doesn’t she seem like someone you can trust?”

“There was a pretty obvious implication that this was jus' 'til we returned with Aerith. Not that she’d be lookin’ after her for who-knows how long, while her daddy was on the run.”

“She’s not going to turn Marlene out onto the street,” Wedge pointed out, with an attempt at an optimistic smile. “She doesn’t seem like the type.”

“Think I don’t know that? But what’s it gonna be like for my little girl, huh? Heat like this can take, what? ... months to die down? ‘At’s a huge percentage of a little girl’s life right now!”

“She’s not going to forget your face,” Biggs tried to reassure him with a bit of a grin. “How could anyone forget that ugly mug, hm?”

Barret glowered at him, unamused. “You’d be surprised what a little girl can forget.”

“It’s not like there’s much of a choice,” Cloud spoke up from his own brooding. “However bad it might be, going back for her now would be worse.”

“He’s right,” Tifa added after a moment’s pause to see if he’d say more. “She’s in a comforting, safe place right now. She might miss her family, but the stress of having to live a life on the run would be rough for her too.”

“So would watching her family be killed.”

“Cloud!”

Barrett’s eyes narrowed behind his shades and he set his jaw with a low growl. After a tense moment, though, he settled himself down on one of the rocks littering the wasted landscape and let the issue drop.

There were a few minutes of depressed silence. At last, Wedge glanced up from where he was fiddling around with his new warhammer and looked around at all the others. “So ... now what?”

Biggs let out a sigh and found his own rock to thump down on. “Well, all the places I knew to lay low are back in the city. But it seems like a real bad idea to go back now.”

“Ah hav’tae agree,” Cait Sith said unexpectedly. He pawed at Wedge’s leg until Wedge picked him up, then scampered up to perch on his shoulder. Now more eye-to-eye with the rest of the party – and looking down on some – he continued. “Ah can let ye know, Shinra’s got yer faces. Not just from the security cameras, but from yer break-ins at the Mako Reactors. Nice, handsome mug-shots ready tae plaster all over the telly.”

“I know,” Barret growled. “I remember that stunt they pulled in Mako Reactor 5.”

Cait Sith shook his head. “That was just the start; they were just gearin’ up for a major media blitz. Whole thing was already in place, ready tae go tae paint ye as the major villains in the tragedy of Sector 7 – before Sephiroth showed up and _completely_ flipped the script. But it can all be retooled at a moment’s notice – and they’ve got sommit new they might decide tae pin on ye.”

“Oh?”

“President Shinra is dead. Sephiroth killed him.”

“ _What?_ ” Tifa gasped.

Barret’s good fist slammed down on his knee. “Damn it! We were right there! I wanted to put a bullet in that monster myself. Hrn ...” He sat back. “At least there’s _one_ piece of good news from this shit-show of a night.”

“If it _is_ good news ...” Cloud muttered.

 _That_ got a lot of attention.

“The hell you mean?” Barret demanded.

“Uh, unless it escaped your notice,” said Biggs, “President Shinra gave the greenlight to dropping a plate on an entire slum’s worth of people. I’d count his death as a pretty good thing in my book.”

“Yes, but there’s the fact _Sephiroth_ did it.” He shook his head. “Let’s look at the pieces. Aerith makes a deal with Sephiroth to stop the plate from falling. In the process, we just _happen_ to help him defeat Fate. Sephiroth goes to claim Aerith from Shinra Tower. In the process, he just _happens_ to kill President Shinra on the way out.” He glanced up at the cat. “What are things like in Shinra right now?”

“Uh ... pretty chaotic, actually,” Cait Sith admitted. “Every bloke who’s not runnin’ around puttin’ out fires – sometimes literally – is runnin’ around tryin’ tae figure out the new President.”

“The group with the greatest inside knowledge about Sephiroth decapitated and the most powerful organization in the world thrown into chaos.” Cloud frowned. “I don’t like it.”

Tifa seemed to catch the direction his mind was turning. “You think he did it to take out a threat?”

“Maybe; I dunno. All I know is, Shinra has a literal army and now it’s busy scrambling to pick up the pieces of itself and chasing us, rather than going after Sephiroth.”

“Hold on,” said Biggs. “Wouldn’t killing their president make Shinra _more_ likely to send their army after him?”

“Um.” Cait Sith looked uncomfortable. “That’s ... not what’s happenin’.”

“You’ve got to be kiddin’ me.”

Cait Sith spread his paws. “Sorry, mate. But the new President appears tae be taking a cautious approach. Even the Department Heads are actin’ pretty wary. One cannae really blame them – this is a thing that isnae gonna be common knowledge, mind, but Sephiroth also stabbed Hojo, the head of Science Department.”

“Huh,” said Biggs. “I don’t really know anything about Hojo. But if he was part of Shinra, I assume he must have been a piece of work.”

Cloud was about to say something about what little he could remember about the cavalier attitude Shinra’s science team took on human life, when he was interrupted by a sudden, _visceral_ feeling of loathing rolling from Zack.

 _What?_ he asked internally, shocked. _Where is this coming from? I thought you didn’t know anything I don’t know._

 _‘I don’t. But ... I feel about things how Zack would feel.’_ Cloud got the impression of a helpless shrug. Zack didn’t know why he was feeling these things either, just that he was.

Cloud conveyed what was going on with Zack to the others.

“Really?” Tifa’s brow furrowed. “That’s ... interesting ... Are you sure he’s not picking it up from you?”

Cloud shook his head. “I know enough to suspect he’s not wrong, but what he’s feeling is too powerful to be coming from anything I remember.”

“Maybe it’s due to something about how the imprint was created?” Wedge offered.

“Or perhaps something about who Zack was?” suggested Biggs.

“Ah still dinnae ken what’s up with all this,” Cait Sith complained.

“We’ll explain it later,” Tifa promised. “Shinra and their reaction to Sephiroth.”

“Er, right. Well, only one really raring tae go after him is Heidegger – and even he’s leery. Bugger’s a bully; he dinnae want tae poke some bloke who can actually shank him. _Scarlet_ is wary of aggressive action, which _really_ worries the two of us.”

“Huh. She’s as –” Biggs coughed, “– aggressive as she seems on the vids, then?”

“Ye have nae idea.”

“So Sephiroh has exactly what he wants and nobody’s doing anything,” Cloud said grimly.

“It ... might be worse than that,” Tifa added, a bit uncertainly. She looked at all the others. “I mean ... Shinra has been known for throwing people under the bus if it serves their purpose. Going after Sephiroth would have to be scary, given what we’ve seen he can do. So ... how much easier would it be to just blame the assassination on us so they could get back to ignoring the problem?”

“Son of a bitch!” Barret’s fist slammed down onto the rock he was sitting on.

“But we didn’t _do_ anything!” Wedge cried. “Well, I mean, we _did_. But not that thing!”

“Current story is President Shinra died of a heart-attack,” Cait Sith reported. “But ... that’s not tae say it cannae change. Sorry. I dinnae ken whether they’ll decide it’s better publicity tae claim those dastardly Avalanche terrorists did it, or that Shinra security did its job and bravely fought ye off but, sadly, President Shinra suffered an unrelated heart-attack from the stress of how hard he was working in these trying times.” The cat delivered this line straight with a faux mournful expression, only cracking and making a disgusted face at the very end. “Honestly, they may go with the second just because of how _obvious_ it is that it’s a lie. If folks draw the wrong conclusions about what the truth actually is, that’s not their problem, is it? While folks are busy arguing ‘bout whether tae believe Shinra or whether they actually dinnae stop ye, nobody’s gonnae be askin’ ‘boot whether Sephiroh had sommit tae do with it.”

“So Sephiroth’s free to carry out his plan while Shinra sticks its fingers in its ears because it’s more convenient to pretend there’s not a problem,” Tifa murmured darkly.

Barret frowned uneasily. “Something about this don’t sit right,” he growled. “I mean ...” He jerked his chin at Cloud. “You’re all about putting the pieces together. But what have we actually _seen_ Sephiroth do?” He started holding up fingers on his good hand. “He saved Sector 7, he killed a man responsible for Goddess-knows how much downright _evil_ , and he broke a girl out of that den of corporate villainy of Shinra Tower.”

“You’re forgetting ‘killed our parents and slaughtered _everyone_ we knew,’” Tifa added grimly, with a glance at Cloud.

“Besides,” Cloud said dryly. “I’d say he _abducted_ Aerith more than ‘broke her out.’ It’s not like he took her back to her mom.”

Barret made a frustrated growling sound and shook his head. “Nrrgh. It’s like you make one good point and one bad one at every turn!” He pointed a finger at Tifa. “That, the killin’ of your folks. That’s somethin’ he unambiguously _did._ Ain’t no way you can spin that that’ll change it.” He pointed at Cloud. “That shit with Aerith though? We don’t know _why_ he did what he did; we just have pieces of what he _did_.”

He shook his head, bringing a large hand up to rub his eyes. “Here’s the part that don’t make sense to me. The man does somethin’ utterly, unequivocally _terrible._ Then he vanishes for five years. Then, one day, he shows back up again and abruptly starts doin’ all ... _this._ Don’t it seem like there might – _might_ be other explanations that could account for all this?”

Cloud stayed silent for a moment. _Is Barret talking about ... a quest for redemption?_

Cloud dismissed the idea almost immediately. His lip curled at the image of Sephiroth wracked with guilt, self-flagellating himself about his deeds long into the night. _No,_ he thought with conviction. _He’s not that kind of man_.

Zack, however, continued to remain uneasy. ‘ _Maybe. He certainly doesn’t seem like the self-flagellating type. But aren’t you constructing a bit of a strawman here? There are ways to seek redemption other than going full angst._ ’

Cloud was attempting to formulate a response, but to his surprise it was Tifa who spoke up. “No. I don’t think seeking redemption is what’s going on here.” She looked up, meeting Cloud’s eyes briefly. “On the pillar, he was faced with two people he’d wounded personally. Perhaps two of his greatest victims; the survivors of Nibelheim. But there was no ... no attempt at restitution there. _Nothing._ Not even at the end; he was just busy, then fighting, then, when it was over, he just _left_. Not even –” her voice caught a little “– not even an _‘I’m sorry._ ’” Her mouth tightened and she shook her head quickly. “No. That’s not the behavior of a man seeking redemption. That’s someone who wants something, does what he needs to get what he wants, and that’s _all._ ”

“Not to mention,” Cloud added, “You didn’t see him earlier. Back when this all started, when I thought my Sephiroth sightings might just be me going crazy.”

_“Tell me, Cloud ... do you remember their faces? The ones I took from you? Those people bind us together, Cloud. I would be loath to lose such a connection.”_

“He was cold. _Cruel_. Trust me; whatever he wants, it’s not to make amends.”

 _That’s Sephiroth,_ he thought grimly. _You can never trust him to be the hero he seems._ Still, he hesitated a moment longer, uncertainty seeping into him. _But ..._

He identified the source of the uncertainty. _Zack?_

Zack didn’t answer for several beats. _‘Sorry. Just working through my own thoughts. Well, feelings, more like.’_

 _Understandable,_ Cloud thought to him after a moment. _You said you feel what Zack would feel about things, right? Even if you don’t remember why?_

‘ _Yeah. It’s confusing._ ’

 _Well, stop trying to analyze_ _**why** _ _for a moment. When I talk about Sephiroth,_ _**what** _ _is it you feel?_

Zack was silent long time. _‘..._ _Conflicted. Wary.’_

_... Can you unpack that any more?_

_‘I dunno, man. It’s like ... You say the word "Sephiroth" – and my first feelings are surprisingly positive. Like, "Hey, Sephiroth, my buddy!" Except not_ _**really** _ _my buddy – not like a best friend or anything. More like, "Hey, that guy from work whom I_ _**want** _ _to be my buddy, but he’s like a superior and kinda doesn’t socialize much, but we’re still totally_ _**casual** _ _buddies, you know – which still makes him my buddy!" You know?'_

_... Uh._

_'But, at the same time, I have these strong feelings of shock, horror, and rage. And ... I think they’re_ _**my** _ _feelings, if that makes any sense. Not yours, not a natural response to reviewing your memories. Like ... first-hand Zack feelings. Which is ... this bizarre sort of doubling, when compared with your feelings. Because they’re_ _**similar** _ _, but not quite the_ _**same** _ _._

_'So, in the end, with all this mishmash mixing together ... I wind up with these feelings of ... I don’t know how to put it. I feel ... wary of positive feelings about Sephiroth.’_

_Thanks. That actually helps a lot._

Cloud nodded physically, finding confirmation of his own instincts.

“All Sephiroth has done is make things easier to carry out his own plan. Don’t forget the visions we saw while fighting Fate and the things Aerith implied.”

Barret frowned. “There you go again with one good point, followed by a bad one. Remember what we got there were _fragments_. _Implications_ ,” he emphasized.

“Barret ...” said Tifa. “What if we’re right? You _saw_ a meteor about to hit the planet – about to hit Marlene! We don’t have _proof_ , but ... there’s enough pieces to suggest we were _supposed_ to fight Sephiroth – and probably stop him, if ... if at high cost. Now, we can choose to hesitate and not to act ... but if we do, _nobody_ else is going to do _anything_ about Sephiroth.” She looked up at him. “Don’t you see? We have a chance now to do this right. To save _everybody_ this time. But ... if we do nothing ... _nothing_ is going to get done. Until, perhaps ... it’s too late.”

Cloud nodded firmly. “I don’t know about you, but the stakes are high enough, I don’t want to roll the dice on doing nothing. Particularly not with Aerith in harm’s way _now._ ” He fixed Barret with a steady look. “It’s not like we owe her any less than when we stormed Shinra Tower.”

“Hrn ...” Barret growled to himself. He stood up and began to pace, frowning intently. Biggs and Wedge glanced from Barret to Tifa and Cloud, before their eyes finally settled on Barret. At long last, Barrett turned to face them with a heavy sigh. “I’m not _convinced_ ,” he told them, “But ... you made some solid points. And you’re right that, by the time the truth was on top of us one way or the other, it’d probably be too late to act.” He glanced upwards at the towering walls of Midgar. “You’re also right that going back now wouldn’t be the brightest of calls. So I guess the only way onward is forward.” He narrowed his eyes at them. “I’ll follow you after Sephiroth, but I’m not sure I’m ready to start shooting yet ‘til I know more first.”

Biggs and Wedge let out their breath, seeming relieved to no longer be faced with the idea of choosing between Barret and Tifa. “I guess this means we’re in too,” Biggs said.

Now Cait Sith was the only one not looking convince. “Hold on a bloody minute!” he cried. “Ah’m just a cat! Ah signed on because Ah thought you blokes were gonna stick it tae Shinra, not to go after bleedin’ Sephiroth!”

“You know that going back into the city right now would be a bad idea,” Tifa told him. “It’s not like we’re not going to kick over Shinra’s plans in any place we pass through,” she added, with a glance around for confirmation.

“You’re all bloody mental! Do ye even have any means at all tae track Sephiroth? Do ye even have a _clue_ where he’s goin’?”

“Do you remember what Leslie told us?” Cloud asked suddenly.

“ _No_. Who?”

“He was a Shinra science experiment,” Wedge explained helpfully. “You’d like him!”

“ _What’s that supposed to mean?_ ”

“Just ... he seemed like a cat person.”

“Oh. Well then, he cannae be all bad then.” A pause. “ _Yes that seems like a perfectly rational reason tae trust someone; get off me back._ ”

 _It is so strange seeing this from the outside,_ Cloud thought. “Leslie explained about something called the ‘Reunion’ instinct.” He proceeded to give the cat-robot a quick and blunt rundown of what the mobster had told them.

“Hmm,” Cait Sith muttered, his fuzzy brows drawing down in a frown. “Mah handler doesnae know much aboot these experiments; it wasnae his department. But the idea of the project doesnae surprise him in the slightest.”

“The point is,” Cloud said, “I have this Reunion instinct too. I can use it to find Sephiroth.” Leslie had described it like a compass arrow. _“If I let my instincts relax and just follow them where they will, I suspect I’ll always end up in his presence.”_ Cloud tried to let his instincts relax and closed his eyes.

 _‘Is it working yet?’_ Zack interrupted with eager hopefulness.

_Shut up, Zack._

He tried letting himself relax again. Suddenly, he pointed. “That way.” He opened his eyes to see his arm pointing, straight as a compass arrow indicating true north.

The rest of the team looked impressed, except for Cait Sith. The small robot cat threw up its paws. “Fine! But if ye actually run into Sephiroth, Ah’m runnin’ off tae hide because – and Ah cannae emphasize this enough – AH’M A CAT!” He gestured up and down at his tiny, utterly unsuited for combat against super-soldiers wielding godlike powers, furry form.

Cloud nodded, satisfied. “It’s settled then.” _Sephiroth is alive out there_ , he thought to himself. _I have to settle the score._ “We’re going after Sephiroth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been waiting patiently for updates! Real life has gotten packed and chaotic recently, which is the reason for the dramatically slowed pace in updates - not a decline in interest. You've all been very understanding and we do appreciate it. ^^


	21. Motet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A motet is a sacred choral piece sung in several parts. 
> 
> This is the only definition that wouldn't exclude whole swaths of repertoire, for the motet has existed for centuries and thrived across multiple periods of huge cultural shifts. 
> 
> In general, however, it tends to have two unifying features. First, it generally makes use of the technique of polyphony – a number of distinct parts combined together, each forming an individual melody AND harmonizing with each other. Second, while motets haven’t always been explicitly religious (some composers were notable for taking one part from what were essentially contemporary pop songs and harmonizing around it), there is always at least the implication of the spiritual - that which affects, not material or physical things, but the human spirit or soul.

Biggs was exhausted. After all, he though dryly, they hadn’t so much had time to _recover_ from the events at the pillar as they’d taken just enough time to rest that they could push on without falling over. They’d left Elmyra’s house to allow time to get to Sector 6. Then they’d spent a strenuous several hours scaling the Sector 7 plate. Then they’d had to climb up _all those stairs._ After which, they’d been involved in an adrenaline pumping vehicle chase – which might wake someone up in the moment, but didn’t exactly help the energy reserves long-term. It had been, what? An afternoon, a night, and now it was well on into the day? And they _still_ weren’t done. After all ...

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?”

There were still the monsters in the Midgar Wastes.

A pack of what looked like mutant motorcycle centaurs – _You know, I bet nobody even had to_ _ **think**_ _the phrase “mutant motorcycle centaurs”_ _before Shinra was a thing_ – was zooming circles around the party like a deadly mix between a biker gang and hunting predators. Biggs had his pistol out and was firing – the creatures were way too fast to line up a shot with the rifle. Barret’s gun arm roared next to him, sheer volume of fire doing something to counter their attackers’ ridiculous speed, while Wedge had switched away from his new toy to the more practical answer of the shotgun, blasting at any of the creatures-out-of-nightmare that came too close.

Cloud, the super-soldier, was tracking the path of the creatures with his blade drawn. When one closed, he leapt forward to meet it with a flash of steel. The creature withdrew, howling with a sound that was part monstrous shriek and part engine scream, bleeding a dark, viscous fluid that looked like a horribly unnatural blend of blood and motor-oil.

Tifa, meanwhile, was in the middle of their defensive circle as she dug frantically through their bags. “‘Martial-arts prodigy,’” Biggs caught her muttering to herself, sounding stressed. “‘You could make a career out of this, Tifa.’ ‘You could probably take on the Wutaian champions if you got noticed by Midgar’s athletic team, Tifa.’ How does any of that help against _living motorcycle?_ I need a ranged option.”

She straightened, holding the brightly colored orb of a materia, and clapped it into the slot in her gloves specifically designed for such a purpose. For a moment, her eyes went glassy as she staggered under the sudden rush of _knowing_ that Materia imparted – the reason, Biggs knew, that it was generally a very bad idea to switch around Materia in a combat situation.

Biggs had tried, a couple of times, to analyze the sensation of his mind being filled with knowledge as it happened, in the optimistic hope that he might be able to remember how to cast after the Materia was taken away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t precisely _data_ that the Materia imparted; it was more a series of instincts, instincts that were lost as the Materia left his possession. Maybe someone would be able to analyze it over and over until they fully broke down the instincts into useable knowledge, Biggs reflected ... but it would have to take a mind like a computer and more raw intellect than he suspected _he_ would ever possess.

A sheet of flame roared from Tifa’s outstretched fingers, engulfing one of the aberrations before guttering out. She dropped her arm, strain pulling at the corners of her eyes. Tifa had long ago discovered she didn’t have a lot of magical potential – something Biggs knew she quietly mourned. Even that single cast must have taken a lot out of her, because she nearly tripped over Cait Sith when the cat pounced on the open bag with a cry of, “Ah- _ha!_ ”

“Hey!” Tifa cried as the cat rooted around inside and came up with a Materia. “Give that –” she started to demand as he plunked the green orb into the space between the spikes of his crown, but before she could even finish, he took off. Tifa tried to grab him, but he zoomed away from her. He scampered back and forth like a creature gone mad and it took them a moment to realize, he wasn’t actually running away with the Materia – he was running in circles.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Biggs demanded.

“ _Hrk_ – trust me!” the cat yelled, with a sound almost like a muffled heave.

One of the motorcycle centaurs broke from the pack to ride down the scampering creature, clawed arms held up and ready to slash. Wedge ran to intercept, too far away and _much_ too slow. Cait Sith, however, just sat back on his haunches. His shoulders hunched, the fur on his spine fuzzed, and his head jerked forward a few times like he was about to hock up a hairball.

_BLAT!_

An arch of pure lightning blasted from his mouth, striking the mutated creature with sizzling force. The creature careened away, shrieking its terrifying unnatural screech. Cait Sit burped a small spark, looking entirely smug.

Biggs almost paid for his distraction in watching the show, ducking as one of the other motorcycle centaurs nearly took his head off with a slash of its claws. He muttered curses to himself and dropped to one knee, firing at it as it wheeled away.

 _Whatever else you might say about Sephiroth,_ he thought morosely as he replaced his spent magazine. _I bet he at least is having an easier time of things._

* * *

“ _Sephiroth! Do something!_ ”

“Not right now; I’m counting Nitrogen.”

“ _Are you serious!?_ ”

“I’m always serious about Nitrogen; it’s one of the building blocks of fertile soil composition.”

Aerith, halfway up the sad remains of a dead tree, shot him a look of _utter_ exasperation and disbelief. Jessie was already perched above her, as high up as the dried limbs looked like they might hold her, trying to chase the circling motorcycle centaurs with bursts from her sub-machine gun. Aerith kicked at one of them that tried to slash at her skirts and scrambled higher.

“ _Do you have to do this_ _ **now**_ _?_ ” she screamed at the all-too unconcerned Sephiroth; the mutant creatures seemed to have decided he was some kind of slow-moving tree and chosen to ignore him in favor of prey that properly _acted_ like prey.

“Now, now,” Sephiroth chided, not even glancing their way. “If I solved all of your problems, how would you learn and grow stronger?”

“You _condescending piece of –_ ”

“Oo we haf hrr ho hif _row_?” Nanaki broke in frantically, his voice muffled. He had managed to pounce onto the back – seat? – of one of the creatures and had his jaws locked around what looked like it might be the creature’s spine. As he continued to try to worry and tear at it, the thing pitched around with its limbs flailing, trying to shake him off.

Jessie seemed to have given up on trying to shoot the speeding things as Aerith finally succeeded in clambering up next to her. Instead, she was in the midst of doing _something_ that looked _highly_ unsafe with the contents of a lighter, a disassembled cartridge, and a bundle of cloth. “Well, I’m all out of good ideas.” Jessie lit one corner of the cloth and pulled her arm back to throw. “Time for a bad one!”

Nanaki’s single eye widened. “Aroo?”

He leaped away just in time as the explosive mix of fire, gunpowder, and lighter fluid went off in the motorcycle monster’s path. Evidently, the viscous blood-substance oozing from the wounds scored by Nanaki’s teeth and claws was flammable; the creature went up like a torch with a hellish shriek.

The sight was apparently enough to break the morale of even mutated waste-monsters, because they scattered like fleeing vermin, wheeling sharply to roar away in all directions at top speed. The burning creature crashed spectacularly, burning limbs flailing as it continued to shriek.

Aerith took a deep breath and called on her magic. The creature was finished, but it wasn’t right to leave something to this agony. Concentrating, she began to gather all the humidity from the nearby air, drawing out the water to answer her call. She stretched out her hand and the gathered moisture flew to surround the creature before, with a flick of her wrist, it all froze solid in an instant.

Aerith took another breath. Then she lifted her fingers and snapped. She felt it as the sound seemed to echo through her magic, the power amplifying it and shifting its resonance until it rang against the ice like a singer’s voice coursing through a wineglass. The ice _shattered_ – and the creature beneath shattered with it. Its remains slumped to the ground, the tortured tune of its existence already starting to fade as its essence began to return to the Lifestream.

Aerith lowered her hand, a little shaky and a little proud, despite herself. She hadn’t been sure that trick would work until she tried it.

As the two girls climbed down from the tree, Aerith glanced up at Jessie. “ _Please_ don’t make highly unsafe home-made explosives next to my head.”

Jessie hopped down the last few feet, stumbling a bit as her ankle buckled, but righting herself with a dancer’s grace and a ready smile. “I _warned_ you it was a bad idea.”

Aerith turned her glare on Sephiroth. “Nitrogen? _Seriously?_ ”

“Why do you persist in thinking I would jest about this?”

“ _Why?_ ”

Sephiroth smiled and spread his arms; clearly, this was a question he was keen to answer. “During previous timeloops, I have come across a rather interesting claim. To summarize: ‘even shutting down _every_ mako reactor will not be enough to save the planet.’ Perhaps _you_ recall a similar conversation.”

Aerith did, as a matter of fact. Unbidden, memories not her own rose to the forefront of her mind as the planet helpfully supplied words in an old man’s voice. _“Even if they stop every reactor on the planet, it’s only going to postpone the inevitable. Even if they stop Sephiroth, everything will perish.”_

 _Thank you, planet; you’re being very accommodating,_ Aerith thought irritably as she suppressed a shudder.

“This planet is _mine_ ... and I take threats to my belongings _very_ seriously. It is clear to anyone with an ounce of foresight that we are heading towards an environmental crisis, so that seems the most likely reason for such apocalyptic claims. Indeed, it is understandable; simply shutting down a reactor will not reverse the damage already done. Therefore, it is of long-term importance to understand the nature of the damage Mako extraction is causing – and this area of blight provides a unique opportunity. Surely you can see why the city, filled with living things and their leavings, is not an ideal ground for observation.

“Now, while it may seem unlikely, it is entirely _possible_ the source of the land’s slow loss in fertility has some sort of scientific explanation. The most obvious would be Mako extraction somehow causing a slow leeching of nitrogen from the soil. If this were true, this could be treated – but there needs to be some sort of hard data before the experiment is worth attempting. Hence, counting nitrogen.”

Aerith blinked at him. Jessie was standing there with her jaw slack. She kept trying to exchange looks with Nanaki, but he still seemed a bit affronted at her hucking a homemade explosive in his direction and was studiously refusing to make eye-contact. At last she turned back to Aerith and mouthed “Counting nitrogen?”

Aerith shrugged. “He does things like this,” she said out loud, with a higher degree of flippancy than she was really feeling.

She frowned at Sephiroth. “You know, I’m pretty sure the leeching of life has a mystic explanation.”

“Yes. But it is still possible the mystical is accomplished through mundane means.” Sephiroth inclined his head. “Not likely,” he allowed, “but possible. So, until the possibility has been discounted, it should at least be explored.”

“... Did you discover anything?” she asked, in spite of herself.

“Mmn.” He frowned. “The hypothesis does not appear to be panning out, but it is still too small a sample size to be certain. I need to keep up the count as we pass through a few more locations. However,” he gave her a smirk, “I’m sure you see now why something that could potentially save the planet is of much higher priority than a few mutated annoyances.”

 _That_ got her bristling all over again. “A _high_ priority, maybe, but not exactly _immediate, is it?_ We could have been killed!”

“I had confidence in your abilities.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Don’t you?”

Aerith resolutely refused to take the bait. “ _You’re_ supposed to be the ex-general. Didn’t they teach you in, I don’t know, some sort of _strategy class_ that it’s always better to be overcautious than gamble somebody’s _life?_ ”

“ _If_ I had judged your life truly at risk, then I would have intervened. However, it is no less of a gamble with your life to deny you a chance to test your skills and improve when there might be greater dangers ahead.”

“ _Any_ combat without specific safety measures in place is a potentially lethal situation, Sephiroth! How would you know if I was about to be _killed_ until it was too late?”

He flicked his hand dismissively. “These creatures are fast on open plains, but they lack ranged or magical capability. They’d only have posed you a threat had you fallen from the tree ... which I doubt you would have done quietly. Besides, genuine danger is a necessary part of training. Practicing with dummy grenades is useful at first, but it is also important to eventually switch to live ones – it’s remarkable, the difference that makes in the average recruit’s throwing arm.” He turned his glowing eyes on Jessie. “Wouldn’t you agree?” he asked mildly.

Jessie, suddenly the subject of the full power of Sephiroth’s gaze, let out a string of syllables that dissolved into an incoherent jumble of sound. Sephiroth’s smirk grew.

He made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “If you’re done playing with waste monsters? Kalm is not growing any closer by us standing here.”

“ _Sephiroth!_ We weren’t playing – _that was my entire point!_ ”

“Mm. We could have avoided this if you hadn’t been so unwilling to fly.”

“ _Unable!_ ”

* * *

Jessie was no longer sixteen. She _knew_ this ... intellectually.

She hadn’t been the _only_ teenager to have a hopeless celebrity crush; but, as she’d grown older, it had eventually become a secret source of embarrassment. Secret, because she would have been very happy to see all the evidence of it confined to a certain cardboard box in her parent’s attic and some scribbles that were _never to see the light of day again._

But that was all fine! She’d grown up, she’d matured as a person – everything was in place to just leave that particular episode of her past behind.

Except ...

_Except, while I am AWARE_ _of how cringey my fangirl crush could be, IT STILL VERY MUCH EXISTS!_

Jessie was an adult. She, in fact, considered herself quite adept at handling crushes by this point! _It’s all a complicated social dance_ , she reflected. _Keep pushing enough so the person will finally realize you’re interested and ask you out, but make sure there’s always a chance you could be joking just in case they’re not interested, so you won’t get hurt._ It wasn't _her_ fault she was single at the moment – _she_ knew how the game was played; people were just dense sometimes.

The important thing, though, was that distance was _key_ to avoiding heartache and embarrassment.

_Aaaaand one look at those chiseled abs in that open trenchcoat that really should be illegal – and all that distance disappears!_

Perhaps it was for the best that Sephiroth didn’t really seem to register her as, well, a complete person. He’d talked about her like she was Aerith’s pet or something – and, while she knew she _should_ find that demeaning, she was pretty sure being the focus of his undivided attention would make her brain shut down completely.

After wading their way through multiple packs of mutated monsters roaming throughout the Midgar wastes, they had finally persuaded Sephiroth that the dimming of the light meant they should probably stop and rest for the night. Nanaki had been leery of the idea and actually sided with Sephiroth at first, favoring pushing on to Kalm. He’d pointed out that, without supplies, they were exposed out here and it would be a long, cold night. However, they had eventually agreed that stumbling around in the dark would put them at even greater risk of monster attacks, especially after Nanaki admitted his night vision wasn’t the best, needing to rely on his nose and the light from his tail.

The real cincher, though, had been learning how much of the Midgar Wastes they still had to cross. Sephiroth had set them down on the south side of Midgar – because, he pointed out, he’d been _expecting_ to be able to simply fly them over the mountains instead of having to take the long way around. Kalm was a ways to the north-east – which meant they’d wasted a fair amount of the day simply circling around the city.

Ultimately, Sephiroth had agreed to stand guard, since he didn’t require sleep, and allow them a rest for the night – on the condition that the rest also include a break from arguing.

Aerith had pouted a little at that; she’d been keen to press the issue of Sephiroth’s general blasé attitude towards combat. He seemed to be of the opinion that dealing with the sort of trash that roamed the wastes was beneath his attention. _I suppose that makes a certain sort of sense,_ Jessie thought, recalling that ... _being_ she had seen in the realm outside time. The titan of concept that Sephiroth had not only faced, but defeated with no apparent injury.

_Goddess ... he’s so COOL!_

Jessie tried to squash the internal squee – but, of course, being a moment _after_ she’d had the thought, it did nothing to curb the chagrin she’d had over ever having the reaction at all.

But he was like ... their own personal summon! This _being_ of phenomenal power who could utterly _annihilate_ any threat you might face – if he could be convinced to take the field. AND, he looked a hell of a lot better in leather! _Except for Shiva,_ _ **maybe.**_ _But that is utterly beside the point!_

Jessie wondered if she could, like ... convince Sephiroth to strike a particular pose or say a catch-phrase the next time he decided to completely destroy a foe. But that would involve, well ... _talking_ to him, so maybe not. Instead, she hid herself in her phone, taking the opportunity to do a brief correspondence check. _Note to self: purchase a portable battery charger._

One of the first things she noticed was a message from Wedge. _“Going 2 be out of city for a bit. Need 2 lay low. Stay safe.”_

Well, that was convenient. Jessie was ashamed to admit, she hadn’t even _considered_ the effect that running off to become part of this tale of magic and aliens and cosmic forces that she hadn’t even known existed before a few days ago might have on the others. The call to adventure had been too strong. She pictured Biggs and Wedge _finally_ dragging themselves back to Elmyra’s house after ... well, _whatever_ it was they’d been doing – only to find her _gone_.

_That ... may have been a bit shitty of me._

Fortunately, the universe seemed to have aligned in her favor for once!

She texted back: _“Sounds good. Out of city myself for a bit. Doing better.”_ There. Now, if Wedge just happened to _assume_ she was out of the city getting quality medical care through – she didn’t know, connections through her parents – so much the better! She was pretty sure her mother was already tapped out as far as medical favors went; she’d already pulled every string she could possibly manage. But Jessie also knew Wedge and Biggs didn’t really have a solid sense for how much privilege being from the plate _really_ afforded you. It wasn’t that she didn’t _trust_ her friends, but they’d signed up to Avalanche to fight Shinra and perform aggressive environmentalism; asking them to get involved in these events was _way_ more than they’d ever agreed to tackle.

With that loose end neatly tied up, she began a more thorough digging into her backlog of correspondences. There were several frantic missed calls from her mother – _Whoops_ – from right after the plate fell, but fortunately Jessie had already taken care of all that when she’d called of her own initiative back in Elmyra’s house. Nothing new, thank the Goddess.

After that, it was wading through emails in her increasingly uncurated inbox. _Spam ... Spam ... ‘Your membership is about to expire’ – well, I’m not sure that shop even_ _ **exists**_ _any more ..._ _Spam ... Spam ..._ “Oh HEY!” she muttered out loud as she came to one of those generic messages saying something to the effect of, ‘an account you made on a website, using this email, is sending you notifications.’ “I haven’t seen that user-name in AGES ... Goddess, I don’t even remember which website it’s linked to any more. What is ...?”

Out of curiosity, she clicked the link.

“... Oh. OH.” Her eyes, now wide, flicked guiltily to Sephiroth. “ _Ah,_ ” she finished in nearly a squeak.

Most unfortunately for her, Sephiroth had not been ignoring her as much as he’d seemed. He came alert at once, his eyes slashing towards Jessie. “What is it?”

“Nothing!” Jessie yipped quickly, pulling her phone to her chest to hide the screen. “Nothing you need to worry about; don’t worry!”

Before she even knew what was happening, Sephiroth was standing directly in front of her and she was transfixed by the full power of his undivided attention. “ _Jessie._ ” His rich, baritone voice rolled over the syllables to caress her ears like the waves of a deep, treacherous sea. “Give me the phone.”

 _He said my name ..._ All her adult self-assurance, all her competence, and indeed all her higher brain function vanished, to her despair, as the tide carried off everything but the starstruck teenager and the part of her brain that she was never, ever going to fully leave behind. Without her fully realizing it, her grip began to slacken, the top of the phone drifting towards him as such minor concerns of bodily coordination were swamped by the sounds of internal squeeing. Whether Sephiroth took this as invitation or just took advantage of an opportunity, he plucked the phone out of Jessie’s unresisting hands before she could do much more than clutch at the scattered remains of her wits.

By time Jessie had collected any presence of mind at _all,_ Sephiroth was standing far enough away to make lunging for the phone impractical, already examining the screen himself. “ ‘My fervent fellow friends and fans, forsaken and forlorn, but never forsworn, our fortitude has borne fruit!’ ” He read out loud. “ ‘I think, at this point, we can announce the _official_ return of your favorite fan club: _the Silver Elite!_ ’ ”

“Oh Goddess ...” Jessie moaned, hiding her face in her hands.

* * *

Aerith stared in utter disbelief. “Are you _serious?_ ” A moment later, she was on her feet, snatching the phone from Sephiroth’s hands so she could read for herself. She barely remembered at the last minute to make sure she avoided brushing his fingers; on its heels came the realization he must have let her grab it – there was no way she could have taken it from him otherwise.

Aerith tilted the phone, taking over the job of reading aloud as her eyes scanned the screen. “ ‘I think everyone here knew Sephiroth was something special, but what a development!’ ” she proclaimed as Nanaki padded over, reared back on his hindlimbs, and put his forepaws on her arm so he could see as well. “ ‘Despite being officially declared dead, our drought of five long years has been brought to an explosive end! Just look at all these new pictures lighting up the forums-!’ ”

“There are four exclamation points and a one there,” Nanaki seemed compelled to point out, dryly.

Aerith’s attention was caught by something else. _Pictures?_ A few taps of the screen later and ...

“That’s ... a lot of pictures,” Sephiroth noted. Aerith couldn’t quite get a read on his precise tone.

She glanced at him. “Well ... you haven’t been very subtle.” There were, indeed, a _lot_ of pictures, she noted with a mix of dismay and guilty fascination. There were distant pictures of Sephiroth at the pillar – most fairly distant, but _clearly_ him thanks to the long silver hair and even longer sword. Far more significant, however, many of them also _clearly_ showed him _floating in the air_ with his hand upraised beneath the suspended Sector 7 Plate.

Of course, all of those pictures were taken from far away! It could, _theoretically_ , be someone else ... If not for all the _other_ pictures. There were some _very clear_ pictures of Sephiroth in various places around the slums. Including ...

“Ah!” Nanaki said, ears perking. “I believe that one has you in it!”

 _And so it does,_ Aerith thought faintly. _Someone_ had managed to snap a picture of the two of them in conversation – if you could call it such – right after she’d successfully managed to convince Sephiroth to help her deal with some rogue Shinra drones. _Riiiiight in the middle of his explanation of how he found connection in combat ..._

It was a _very_ visually striking picture. Sephiroth on the right, his eyes locked with hers, the space between them spanned by the steel kissing her cheek. The two made bizarrely apt visual foils; Sephiroth all severe black and cold silver to Aerith’s cheerful pinks and warm browns. Sephiroth cut a very masculine figure; even as the angle obscured his bare chest, it emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the strong lines of his jaw. Aerith, meanwhile, was unabashed in her femininity – from the tip of the lace hemming on her skirts to the cute bow in her hair. He held a sword, she held a flower basket. Where he was tall, she was petite. Where he was an icon, every detail of his outfit groomed towards a single, ruthless image, she was real, from the mismatched bracelets clearly chosen because she found joy in them, down to her practical ugly boots. The sword stretched between them, connecting them ... but it was the intensity of their expressions that electrified the image.

The picture seemed to be _very_ popular. Very ... _very_ popular, in fact. _Wait, this thread is HOW many pages?_

“Look at that sizzling romantic tension!” said one of the comments.

“You _can’t_ tell me there’s nothing going on here,” said another.

“So hot!!!”

“Wish that were me.”

“Guys!” wrote one excited commentor. “I was looking through the fan pages for the other big-name 1sts – you know, just in case one of them’s going to start appearing again as well – and I realized something! I’ve SEEN this girl before! Check out the old forums for Zack Fair’s fan club; she’s listed as someone who had a ‘close relationship’ to him.”

Aerith had a brief moment where it felt like the bottom just dropped out of her stomach.

_What?_

_Zack had a fan club?_

_People have pictures of me? From all the way back then?_

She’d tried, in her own way, to always fly under the radar. Not hide, _precisely_ ... but if she had recognition, it was as a community figure, while she tried to sidestep the larger limelight. It was unnerving to realize she’d had a brush against people who didn’t even know her ... Who were viewing her, even now, from a cold and analytic distance, lacking any of the connection of having interacted in person. _You knew even then that dating a SOLDIER was risky ... I just didn’t expect the fame he gathered to spill attention onto me._

It was a rather significant oversight, she reflected as she stared down at the forum thread. That comment ignited the comments, setting off a flurry of replies – some of which were quite hostile.

“What?” demanded one. “What’s she doing looking so sizzling at Sephiroth if she was Zack’s girl?”

“Has a thing for SOLDIERs, doesn’t she?”

“Is she cheating on our boy Zack? >:-(”

“I am _not_ cheating on Zack!” Aerith cried indignantly before she could stop herself. She gave a disbelieving, furious gesture down at the phone. “Even if I had been _married_ to Zack – and I very much was _not –_ the vows are ‘till death do you part.’ Zack’s dead; we parted!”

Jessie’s head popped up from behind the sheltering screen of her hands like a fox scenting blood. “ _That’s_ your objection?” she asked, intrigued. “Not the, you know, dating-Sephiroth part?”

Aerith gritted her teeth. “ _Thank_ _you_ , Jessie; I was trying to address a more deep and cosmic issue.”

Jessie tossed a wistful, dreamy glance at Sephiroth. “I dunno; he seems pretty deep and cosmic to me ...”

“I’m intrigued by this one,” Nanaki said, before Aerith could manage a reply. He pressed his nose briefly to the screen to indicate a post several lines below the previous one. “Can you scroll down a little more? It’s very ... long.”

Indeed it was, Aerith realized with increasing dismay. The author appeared to have been very excited while composing, if the occasional spelling errors were any indication. The post proceeded to launch into a detailed theory about what might have happened in the preceding five years, starting with the idea that Zack and Sephiroth had been on tour together – and something went wrong. With Sephiroth barely clinging to life himself, Zack died in his arms, using his last breaths to beg his old war comrade to bring word to his sweetheart at home. Sephiroth then spent the next five years fighting to make his way back home to Midgar – including some speculation about how badly he might have been hurt or even if he’d been captured. But he’d finally, after many years, made it to the girl who had occupied all his thoughts, only for sparks to fly ...

Aerith stared, not quite able to wrap her head around what she was reading. The post seemed rather enthusiastically accepted, she did note in something of a daze. The one exception she could find was someone who had commented, “Aren’t you reading a lot into an interaction where he’s holding a sword to her face?” _That_ post had been immediately jumped on and down-voted into oblivion.

“People seem to be getting rather ... intense about these interpretations,” Nanaki observed. His eye flicked over to Aerith. “Is this typical?”

Aerith shrugged and glanced over herself. “... Jessie?”

Jessie flushed, scuffed the toe of her shoe across the ground, and opened her hands in a disarming shrug while smiling nervously. “... Sometimes? Don’t, um, look in my post history, please ...”

 _Why?_ Aerith stomped on the suspicious thought; the girl had a right to _some_ privacy. Even if it was something she had posted. Publicly. On the internet. So, not really – but. It probably wouldn’t be right to embarrass her more now when they had already literally taken the phone from her hand. She was capable of feeling _some_ pity.

To distract herself from the temptation, she glanced over at Sephiroth to see how he was taking this – then did a double-take as her senses caught up with her. _Why am I hearing melancholy music?_

The Goddess, Aerith had come to learn over the years, definitely had a sense of humor – and a cheeky one at that. Normally during situations like this, she’d be hearing what she mentally dubbed ‘slapstick music.’ Embarrassment when there was no real harm done was met with something bright, amused, and a little tongue-in-cheek as a gentle reminder not to take oneself too seriously. The number of times it had been used towards her had quietly kept her ego from growing too large over the years – something, she supposed, that could have been a real concern, given she was the super-special last member of a powerful magic species. It had also helped shape her own responses, crafting her wit to puncture others’ growing ego without being cruel. There was a fine line between what someone would laugh about later and something that would actually wound them.

That was why the lack of mirth in the music now was a wake-up call, the equivalent of the planet walloping her over the head with a pillow to get her to pay attention.

So, she paid attention. Starting with the realization that Sephiroth was being awfully quiet about something that directly involved him.

“Sephiroth?” She examined him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. She was getting _better_ at reading him, but that didn’t mean she was _perfect_ at it yet. He wasn’t _emoting_ at the moment, which made the entire task more difficult. _Although I suppose that fact should tell me something, right there. He’s not smirking, not frowning, not staring coldly ... There’s no indications of anything from wrath to amusement to mild exasperation. Just ... nothing. Like even he doesn’t know which expression to wear._

“Are you ...” Aerith’s brows drew together. “Are you okay? I would have thought you’d be ... I don’t know, more smug about the idea of all these fans obsessing over you.”

Sephiroth’s mouth twisted slightly. He folded his arms across his chest. “I am not fond of the Silver Elite.”

Aerith raised an eyebrow at this. “Oh? You’re the one always claiming godhood; wouldn’t that make these people the first in line to be your worshipers?” she asked dryly, not quite able to resist the dig.

“Mn.” Sephiroth’s eyes weren’t on her, but on some point a few inches above the phone held in her hands. “The worship may be genuine, but the church is tainted. _Hojo_ founded the Silver Elite,” he stated bluntly, killing any desire to continue teasing him.

Aerith inhaled, her free hand going to her mouth to hold back the swirl of nausea that surged up at the mention of Hojo’s name.

Jessie looked back and forth between them, her eyebrows pinching in a confused frown as she tried to follow the interplay. “Hojo? He’s the head of Shinra’s Science Department, isn’t he?”

“And Sephiroth’s father,” Aerith added grimly.

That brought Jessie up short. “Wait.” She held up her hands. “Wait, wait, _wait_ , WAIT ...”

“He decided on ‘Chairwoman H’ as a persona because the Marketing Department determined a fan site having a female leader would appear less threatening.” Sephiroth’s tone was chilling in how matter-of-fact it was, discussing such nakedly cynical decisions. “The whole thing was set up as a series of compromises. Hojo created the organization without authorization when I was just a child, but when it was realized how much it could be used to overcome my ... less than personable demeanor and drum up a demand for merchandising, he was allowed to keep it as long as Marketing kept several Admin accounts. He slipped the leash a couple of times, but for the most part, he decided what information should be released and they curated it into its most marketable form.”

“ _Wait_ –” Jessie put her fingers to her temples. “You’re saying your _father_ released information like your shampoo usage habits?”

“He _what_?” Aerith asked. “That’s – so personal! How could something like that be posted online?”

Jessie looked taken aback. “Hey, it didn’t – it didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time ...”

Aerith stared at her. She hadn’t _actually_ made any accusatory noises towards Jessie for consuming this information ... The fact that she was getting defensive probably meant she was just starting to realize how messed up a system she’d been part of had been ... and was rebelling against the idea.

It did only make sense. Jessie clearly seemed to realize some of the stuff she’d taken part in as a teenage fangirl had been _embarrassing_ – but that was a far cry from realizing she’d taken part in something _wrong_. Particularly considering this was clearly something she’d cared about very deeply, that she’d been _passionate_ about. It would be extra hard to take in that something like that might have been tainted from the beginning.

Of _course_ getting defensive would be the immediate reaction. Which caused less distress in the moment: Accepting a major upending of her world and committing herself to an arduous reordering that was likely going to require some uncomfortable self-examination and difficult changes in behavior? Or denying the problem and claiming that because there had been no malice in her actions, no wrong had been committed?

_It’s understandable; that doesn’t mean it can be allowed to stand._

“Jessie,” Aerith said gently. “They went into his _bathroom_ and reported on what they found there. They reported on _what he did in the shower._ That’s assuming they even went in after the fact and put together the clues; by the _Goddess_ , I hope it wasn’t something they bugged. Like,” she swept her arm in a gesture towards Sephiroth, “I think we can all agree that we’d like to see Sephiroth in the shower, but I think we can also agree there’s a difference between him _choosing_ to put on a show for our sakes and someone making the choice for him to peep into his intimate moments and _rip_ away what privacy he has.” The memory of that perfectly transparent specimen tank, surrounded by dozens of camera eyes was far too fresh in Aerith’s mind for her liking.

Sephiroth wasn’t responding. She was certain something was going on inside his head – because there always was – but she had absolutely no idea what he was thinking.

“Um ...” Nanaki murmured. “Not to tread on your point, but I would like to mention that a desire to see Sephiroth in the shower is _not_ in fact something we can all agree on. I am indifferent to the subject; I have no attraction to two-legged things.”

Aerith sighed and massaged the side of her head with her fingertips. “The point on inclusivity is noted.”

She glanced up at Sephiroth, who still wasn’t outwardly reacting. “Did you know about what Hojo was doing?” she asked him directly.

Sephiroth stirred, then spread his hand, palm up, in something vaguely reminiscent of a shrug. “I stopped following the specifics fairly early on. But it doesn’t surprise me,” he murmured, still in that same matter-of-fact tone. “ _He_ would have enjoyed that, the acclaim paid for providing something no one else could manage. Particularly if that something was knowledge. And, of course, providing knowledge that could be found nowhere else would also serve to bring people flocking to _his_ creation, the Silver Elite.” He gave a cold smile. “An entity entirely created to attest and amplify how great his most masterful achievement truly was ... It’s the sort of multilevel plan he’d be fond of.” His lip twitched. “Every facet and moving part, a shrine to his ego.”

“Sephiroth!” Aerith cried out, unable to help herself. “Stop treating this like a fact of life!”

Sephiroth paused and raised a silver eyebrow at her. “It is a fact that happened in my life. How should I treat it?”

“Just because it happened doesn’t mean it _should_ have happened.”

Sephiroth paused, then shook his head. “I would have thought _you_ would understand. When Shinra decides you are special, important, useful ... privacy becomes a luxury. They hunger to know every detail about you, so the only things that stay private are the details you actively hide.”

Aerith brows pulled down instinctively into a frown. “I _do_ understand. But what _you_ don’t seem to is that privacy never _becomes_ anything. They _made_ it into a luxury. What Hojo did _wasn’t okay_ , Sephiroth.”

For the first time, she registered a reaction; a sudden tightness in his shoulders, then Sephiroth went very, very still ...

* * *

It was strange, Sephiroth reflected. He’d been punishing Shinra for this for subjective years, cycle after cycle ... But to him, it had always been as revenge against a personal slight. That which hurt him had been met with retribution.

It was an entirely different thing to see himself the subject of a moral wrong.

 _Morality ..._ he mused. Sephiroth had always had a complicated relationship with morality.

At a young age, he had come to realize that it all boiled down to an understanding of what was “good” and “evil”; that which was good should be sought while that which was evil should be avoided. However, no one had been able to provide a definition for these terms that was ever able to truly satisfy his analytic mind.

Sephiroth was no fool; he was aware that Shinra didn’t provide him a full access to information. Judicious censorship was, of course, employed – particularly on the subject of philosophy. _You wouldn’t want your greatest weapon adopting ethics counter to your goals, now would you?_

Of course, recognizing that censorship did not magically grant him the knowledge of what lay beyond it. By time he’d developed the skills to circumvent it, he was so far behind that he struggled for the keywords to even begin his own search. Assuming, of course, that he even had time. That had been in the middle of the Wutai War – and even he had been cognizant enough to realize the lives of people who were his responsibility took precedence over personal goals. Time for research could be better spent in learning strategy and in memorizing intel: force composition, supply lines, terrain details, weather, morale, casualties; there had been information enough to appease – if not sate – his hungry mind, and the hours had been too precious to be expended on an open-ended quest for personal enlightenment.

By time the war had been over, he had developed something that seemed to work for him. Deeper searches had seemed ... almost pointless, after the fact. How could armchair philosophers, who had never had their steel truly tested to see if they’d break, who’d never had to hold something as weighty as the fate of lives in their hands, who’d never been the one to need to decide, here and now, who lived and who died – how could they, sermonizing safely from the comfort of their homes, have anything to teach him?

Yet Sephiroth had not been blind; he’d realized that his attempts to treat philosophy like an academic pursuit had been floundering. So, in the end, he had turned to the people around him.

Angeal had been ...

Sephiroth still remembered how he’d appeared at first. He had seemed an icon, someone to look up to and aspire to be. Perhaps the least skilled and least powerful out of the trio, but he had arrived into Sephiorth’s life already speaking with confidence about his ideals. He had always been willing to lecture about them, throwing around words like honor, and scolding those who did not measure up. He had seemed, to Sephiroth’s eyes, like a paladin from the tales made flesh. Surely someone so willing to declaim about these concepts must have a firm understanding of them.

But then, over time, Sephiroth had begun to realize Angeal’s ideals were ... shallow. He spoke the words – he _believed_ the words ... but he hadn’t delved deeply into what they meant. His understanding lacked rigor; he was unable to deliver satisfactory answers to Sephiroth’s continued probing. After a while, Angeal’s talk about honor had become something Sephiroth regarded in much the same way as Genesis’ book; something that bore no meaning for him, but that he endured with fond exasperation because it was important to his friend.

In the end, Angeal’s ideals had proven too thin and brittle to withstand true testing. When faced with a challenge to his world, he had broken and chosen death ... leaving Sephiroth alone.

Sephiroth had come to accept he would never get a satisfactory answer as to the nature of good and evil. _If, indeed, such concepts apply at all. I am, perhaps, even beyond good and evil at this point. My central precept is simple, even if some would call it cold: that which is good for me is good, that which was bad for me will be punished. The definitions for rightness or wrongness do not matter; these words are just as hollow as 'honor' or 'dreams.'_

And yet ...

Yet, it seemed it _mattered_ that Hojo’s actions had been labeled as wrong. Not just bad for him, but _wrong_. It resonated in the part of him that had been enraged at Corneo, that so unworthy a man could wield such power and demand such devotion from those beneath him. With the part of him that could find disgust on a soul-deep level at President Shinra in his position as the figurative avatar of greed.

_It seems the philosophies I actually hold are not as well examined as I thought. This should be rectified._

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed slightly as he turned the thoughts over in his mind. _What Hojo did ... was wrong._

Sephiroth was used to the concept of wrongness being applied to him – _“That’s wrong, Sephiroth!” they cry as I do something that harms them._ It was easy to dismiss such bleating as attempts by the weak to wield shame in an attempt to get him to stop, since they had no other weapon that could halt him. When his own instincts had been so systematically dismissed, what other conclusion was there to be had but cynicism?

_What Hojo did was_ _**wrong** _ _._

_I_ _**knew** _ _it._

It was like a like a gear long grinding out of alignment was now slotted back into place, like a breath long held now finally released. He didn’t quite know what it was, although the realization finally came to him after a moment.

Validation.

_I_ _**knew** _ _it. This whole time._

His righteous anger? His grief-fueled rage? Was _justified._

The revelation was ... accompanied by an odd feeling of peace. He’d already had his revenge, many times over; this fresh understanding didn’t appear to require any new action against the world that had wronged him. _Indeed, if by the world’s reckoning, I_ _ **have**_ _been wronged, perhaps it’s more salvageable than I’d thought._

Almost absurdly, his memories turned to an honestly trivial incident back in the Wutai War, when he’d learned that Usher was nursing a splinter. What had fascinated Sephiroth was the realization that the man’s body had begun to heal around the object, leaving the site swollen and infected. It was his first encounter with a literal ‘festering wound.’

 _“Why don’t you just expel the splinter from your body?”_ Sephiroth had asked in youthful curiosity.

_“Most people’s bodies can’t do that on their own. Extracting it takes a little outside help.”_

Sephiroth had seen a more vivid example of this some time later, during one of the first attempts to replicate SOLDIER healing with cybernetics. A bullet had gotten lodged in a man’s body and the micro-materia had managed to heal all the gross tissue damage. However, the bullet was still leaching lead into the man’s body, infusing his limb with a constant stream of poison. The healing materia was successfully managing to repair the damage each night, but the man spent each day white-faced and in constant pain. It had been a long, long trek back before they could reach the nearest competent surgeon.

He waved such idle comparisons from his mind. His superior processing speed allowed him to fit many thoughts into the space of a few seconds, but hard experience had taught him that people could grow quite indignant, even hostile, if they didn’t receive a satisfactory reaction _within_ seconds. The space since Aerith had last spoken to him was already beginning to stretch too long. He should offer some response.

“... Hm.”

* * *

Reeve took a moment to set down his paperwork, rub his eyes, and take a sip of water. He’d learned long ago that he couldn’t afford to let ‘just one more thing’ get in the way of small necessities like hydration.

There was always one more thing.

That was particularly true right now. Forget long-term reconstruction – even just the refugee crisis alone ... Where was he going to _put_ all of them? _If you don’t figure it out, the answer will be decided for you – and chances are, you won’t like it._

Every potential alternate scenario he could think of was bad. Without good options, necessity _always_ drove people to try more extreme ones before they were willing to submit to the end. It horrified him to realize that the _best_ case, from Shinra’s perspective, was mass rioting. Food, water, and shelter were necessities _now_ , every day; it wouldn’t take long in their absence for people to turn to breaking _things_ to steal what they needed for _people_. What would be their alternative?

This was assuming, of course, a more attractive alternative didn’t present itself. What made rioting the best case scenario, from Shinra’s perspective, was that it assumed a _leaderless_ public lashing out with the aim of acquiring the most basic necessities. There was always the possibility a charismatic individual could step forward, offering solutions before it got to that point. Despite Shinra’s historically ham-fisted attempts to squash any figure who seemed to dangerous, there were no shortage at the moment. _Shinra’s going to keep pushing the narrative that Avalanche was behind platefall as hard as it can, because they realize exactly how much a well-organized movement could capitalize on the situation._

Of course, there was always the possibility the people would manage to work out their own solutions, coming to a new sort of equilibrium over time. The problem was, there weren’t a lot of ways that could happen that wouldn’t be detrimental to Midgar as a whole; just look at what had happened in Sector 6. That place had become a hive of criminals and scum, acting as a net exporter of lawlessness under the veneer of technically-legal glittering degeneracy. Their smuggling, drug selling, and any number of other illegal activities had _constantly_ undermined Reeve’s struggles to build a healthy society for Midgar. Yet, as usual, Reeve’s concerns had been summarily dismissed; Shinra found organized crime more useful than disorganized crime, since it meant there were leaders that could be leaned on or bargained with.

 _Speaking of ... I thought Shinra had Corneo in the bag; who the HELL is this new guy?_ Reeve was _not_ sorry to see Corneo go; he was exactly the sort of person Reeve hated most. It wasn’t even that the new Don was leaving a bad impression; Reeve was actually more than a little taken aback at how quickly he’d committed resources to helping out in the wake of the disaster, particularly since he didn’t seem to be trying to scalp desperate people with a ‘rescue tax’ or anything like that. But he was still _dangerous_ , just by the very nature of the organization he controlled, not to mention his notable anti-Shinra hostility.

_Just because there aren’t problems yet, doesn’t mean there won’t be. Particularly when I have to look_ _**both** _ _at the next few days and ten/fifteen years down the line. I have to think of something._

There just wasn’t enough _space_ in Midgar to put them all. _Outside of Midgar, then. I’ll start setting up a temporary city on the edge of Midgar where I can lay down the emergency infrastructure I need to keep the refugees’ living conditions stable while we work out a long term solution. Maybe outside Sector 3, since that’ll keep them as far away from Sector 6 as possible._

Having the populace spill outside the city wall was going to bring security problems, of course; Heidegger was going to have a fit. _I’ll just ask him if he thinks it’ll be more of a security problem than riots._ Reeve paused. _On second thought, I’ll just see if I can begin setting it up without telling him and hope the sunk-cost fallacy gets the rest of Shinra’s leadership to go along with it._ Heidegger was a blunt instrument, a bully, direct and impatient, and delighting in opportunities to exercise his power. He probably _would_ find quelling riots preferable to guard duty.

Reeve sighed and leaned back in his chair. He had so much to do, so much to think about. Plus, of course, there was the added distraction of Cait Sith now being constantly online.

Cait Sith was designed as something of a symbiotic entity. Reeve was one of the rare few with the SND ability, although he was not at all a powerful example as far as things went. One of his few pieces of cyberware was a chip in his brain that allowed him to interface with other specially modified devices remotely, which had been of great help in his hobby of tinkering with robots.

Originally, the cat robot had been envisioned as little more than a drone he manipulated by jacking in. However, he’d soon learned it took _so_ much concentration to control every single one of the robot’s actions, he wasn’t able to focus on anything else. The robot would be useless for search and rescue if he had to devote his entire attention to piloting it whenever it went out; his job simply didn’t leave him with the _time._ It wasn’t like Shinra could employ a fleet of SND pilots either; the ability was just too rare. It was so rare, in fact, that every single person in Shinra who had the ability was part of the same private chatroom, hidden away in a dark corner of the internet behind a nondescript URL, with a password shared only with other Synaptic Net Divers, like part of the ritual for joining a secret club. It was mostly a place for them to hang out and kvetch.

So, with directly piloting his robot off the table, Reeve turned to software to aid him. Thanks to his own coding knowledge and his SND ability, he had managed to compile something that exceeded his expectations. In fact, the newly christened Cait Sith was _so_ capable of handling autonomous decision-making, Reeve was starting to wonder if he had accidentally managed to create a true A.I.

_If so, I’m not sure I can ever explain how I did it ..._

The possibility was exciting, if a little alarming. Particularly after going onto the private forum about the question and getting responses from some of the other SNDers. Even among their own community, there was a lot about their powers that wasn’t very well understood. _“You want to be careful about using SND abilities as a shortcut to write code,”_ ‘Translucent’ had warned him. _“Code does exactly what you tell it to. If you use what quite frankly seems like some sort of mystic ability to instinctively transform your wishes into code, you never can be quite sure what you might end up telling it.”_

Even though the message had been a little unsettling, Reeve was still eager to explore the potential implications of a newly created A.I. _If_ he had indeed managed to create one, which was the big question. Unfortunately, Shinra considered allocating resources to answering it one of its absolute lowest priorities. From their perspective, they didn’t _want_ to know the answer. After all, Shinra didn’t care about the lives and autonomy of _human beings_. Asking questions about whether a machine crossed some metaphysical boundary into personhood was, if anything, introducing unwanted inconvenience; it would just make it more difficult for a handler to follow any orders that might result in the machine’s destruction. All Shinra really cared about was ensuring the proper assurances were programed in to keep it under control.

Thus, the constant open link between Reeve and robot remained.

Unfortunately, this meant that Reeve ended up aware of everything Cait Sith was aware of in any given moment. It was proving very distracting. _This will take more getting used to than I thought._ For the most part, he was attempting to ignore it, confident that Cait Sith had the ability to take care of himself just fine. However, he remained subject to Cait Sith’s mental commentary and, when he let his mind wander, often found himself paying attention to what the little robot was doing.

“What a good kitty ...” Wedge was crooning as he scratched Cait Sith behind the ears. He was carrying the purring creature in his arms – and Cait Sith was radiating feelings of smugness back through their mental link.

_‘Ye hear that? Ah’m a GOOD kitty.’_

_‘You are indeed good at being a kitty,’_ Reeve thought back in a dry, fond tone.

_‘Damn straight.’_

“Good ‘kitty’ nothin’,” he heard Barrett comment. “How the hell’d a robot cast magic?”

There was a general pause from the group.

“That’s ... a good question,” said Biggs. “Doesn’t magic involve the Lifestream somehow? Doesn’t the Lifestream require, well ... being _alive_?”

“Hey!” Cait Sith caught Tifa giving Biggs a sharp frown. “What’s to say he’s not alive?”

That dragged Reeve’s attention fully away from his paperwork and into the current conversation. “Well, actually,” Cait Sith and Reeve said as one. “Ah’m not alive, technically speakin'. Ye can argue if Ah’m a full Artificial Intelligence, because that would grant me _personhood_ ,” they lectured together, “but the thing that makes full A.I. unique is bein’ a _person_ without bein’ _alive._ ”

Tifa’s brows pinched together. “Says who? Who gets to decide if you’re alive or not?”

 _‘There we go,’_ Reeve murmured. Cait Sith sat up in Wedge’s arms to point at her. “Ah, ye see that, _that_ is a product of yer inherent biases tae value life above non-life. But it _is_ a bias. We _have_ a scientific definition for life. Do ah check out? Hell no! But Ah can still be a _person_ without bein’ _alive._ ”

 _‘Oi, longshanks ...’_ murmured Cait Sith. _‘Ramblin’ about yer special interest can wait; the initial question was aboot magic.’_

_‘Right, sorry.’_

Cait Sith held up one claw. “All of that dinnae help with magic though! Fortunately fer me, 's a little more complicated than just ‘magic equals Lifestream equals life.’ There’s a lot of complexity with how allovit interacts with natural laws ... But anyway, short version is: turns out there are some metals that can be fashioned into etheric scoops. Mah handler –”

 _‘Saw those bureaucratic shenanigans Scarlet was trying to pull on him and stole some of her inventory in revenge,’_ Reeve thought with a grim sort of pleasure.

“– _acquired_ a bunch of that material for mah construction.”

Easy enough, thanks to the private SND forum – where they regularly bitched about, among other things, the various holes in Shinra’s cybersecurity. Most of which could ultimately be traced back to problems between screen and chair.

Cait Sith smoothed back the fur on his forelimb in a gesture not unlike a man brushing dust from his sleeve. “Ah’m still a prototype, of course,” he admitted. “There was a _lot_ more tinkerin’ the skinny malinky longlegs’d planned tae do.”

The passive ether gathering was still _not_ very efficient yet – something Reeve was still grumbling about. He’d put a _lot_ of work into the cape – and it had indeed improved recharge speed ... Unfortunately the storage issue remained unresolved.

 _‘In even as little as another few WEEKS, I might have had a chance to install better batteries ...’_ he griped.

However, alas, as it stood, Cait Sith generally had enough juice for one shot before he had to run around collecting more. _Literally_ run, as ether scooping seemed to work better with movement.

_‘Ah build power through a case of the zoomies; what’s the problem?’_

_‘The problem is when you do it in the middle of the night.’_

“ _Lots_ of tinkering,” Reeve sighed out loud through their shared connection.

“ _But,_ ” Cait Sith took over, with the mental equivalent of a glare through their connection. “There were a number of pickles we _did_ have time tae brine.”

_‘Where did that metaphor even come from? You don’t even eat!’_

_‘Shut yer geggie, ya neep; Ah’m talkin’.’_ “Take the ether gatherin’ – that’s fine, but it dinnae matter if ye cannae use it. That’s the real problem.” His tail flicked, pointing towards the Materia still slotted into Tifa’s glove. “That shite’s designed tae give ye an instinctive grasp of magic, aye? Well, mah brain’s a computer; Ah dinnae have instincts.” His wiskers fluffed outward as he smiled. “Fortunately ... mah brain’s a computer!” He paused long enough to throw some illustrative jazz-paws. “Ah can parse data a hellova lot faster than ye lot,” he announced proudly. Then his face twitched slightly. “Ah just have tae do it one line at a time. Every time. Nae shortcuts. Yay.”

“Wait ...” Biggs said slowly. “You’re able to ... to _read_ Materia?”

Cait Sith preened. “That’s what Ah said!”

“Well, I did think you’d need a brain like a computer ...” he muttered. “So, any Materia you’ve ever picked up, you have that knowledge in that head of yours?”

“Ah.” Cait Sith raised a paw. “Read, yes; store, no. Not enough internal capacity.” He tapped his fancy crown with one claw. “This helps me access the information, but ye can think of it like accessing an external hard-drive. Once it’s unplugged ... _pfft._ ” He made a gesture like something dissipating into the air.

“That ...” Wedge said slowly, “is still so _cool!_ You’re like the best kitty-robot-person!”

Off to the side, Cait Sith could see Cloud rolling his eyes while the little robot preened some more, purring loudly and smugly for all to hear.

_‘Ye hear that? Ah’m the_ _**best** _ _kitty-robot-person.’_

_‘Yes, Cait Sith.’_

_‘Ah bet_ _**Wedge** _ _would let me have catnip.’_

_‘We’re still fiddling with core functions; I am not creating a module purely to allow you to enjoy drugs!’_

_‘It’s part of mah cultural heritage!’_

_‘Bullshit; you just want to see what the fuss is about.’_

_‘Well maybe if ye loosened up a little, Ah’d be able tae experience sommit equivalent through ye.’_

_‘I am not taking drugs!’_

_‘Ack! Ye won’t take drugs, ye won’t let me take drugs ... Do ye know what it’s like having a whole chunk of experiences ye’ve heard all about, but ye’ll never be able tae ken?’_

_‘Yes! Every day! Do you think I can’t tell you experience things differently than I ever could?’_

_‘True; it is very cool. But Ah bet it isnae as cool as drugs.’_

_‘Will you quit with the drugs thing; I am not giving you the ability to experience drugs!’_

_‘Ack! Fine! But dinnae complain if this stifles mah development.’_

_‘I think you’ll be fine.’_

* * *

“Kalm ...” _Finally,_ Aerith sighed mentally. Part of her yearned to be surrounded by _people_ once more. They had _finally_ passed out of the Midgar Wastes – and it certainly was a beautiful experience! The grass was green, there was so much ambient life ... and she could have been able to appreciate it a lot more if it didn’t feel like someone had left the lid off the sky!

Aerith was frazzled and she knew it. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to walking all day – or even walking all day through places infested with monsters. It was that, really, all things considered, she hadn’t actually had a lot of time to recover _before_ walking all day through places infested with monsters. Add to that a night spent tossing around on uneven dirt and rocks – and waking up in the wee-hours to discover Nanaki had been absolutely right about just how _cold_ the ground got when you didn’t have a blanket between you and it – and she felt like a living zombie.

Everything was so ... _open_. When she was fresh and energetic, it felt freeing; when she was exhausted and frazzled, she felt exposed. It felt like there was no cover between her and any prying eyes – and the lack of bodies made her feel like she stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Maybe we could get a hotel room?” Jessie suggested hopefully.

Sephiroth gave her a stern glance. “You’ll have to get used to camping eventually.”

“Yes, but ...” said Aerith, “does it need to be _today?_ ”

“I wouldn’t mind a soft bed to sleep on either ...” Nanaki murmured hopefully.

Jessie blinked at him. “You don’t sleep on the floor?”

“Why would I want to sleep on the floor any more than you? Also: I’m still not speaking to you after you threw an explosive at me.”

Jessie threw up her hands. “I’m sorry! I thought you were immune to fire, what with your tail being _on_ fire and all.”

“That is an unfounded stereotype.”

“... _What?_ ”

Aerith, however, had realized something else. She’d pulled out her wallet and was carefully searching through it. “Hey Jessie? What are we going to do about money?”

Jessie blanched and began patting her pockets. “I ... didn’t exactly grab a lot of gil while bolting out of bed to fight Shinra in the middle of the night.”

“I have a little bit ...” Flowers had been a luxury item that literally only she could provide without shipping them in at great expense, so she’d been able to set her own prices. _Still, how much does camping gear cost?_ “I know Nanaki doesn’t have pockets ...”

Sephiroth gave a deep, exasperated sigh. “I’ll cover expenses.”

Aerith blinked at him. “That ... we couldn’t ... No, wait – HOW? Isn’t that entire body just a transformed Shambler? Since I notice _he_ wasn’t wearing those clothes, doesn’t that mean that outfit is entirely made up out of Jenova cells?”

“Very astute.”

“Then how do you have money? I realize you seem to be able to make just about anything out of Jenova cells, but _gil?_ You _can’t_ tell me that poor man had a lot of money in _his_ pockets.”

Sephiroth’s face held traces of a smile. “When I was younger, I foresaw there might be a day when Shinra and I would need to part ways. Needless to say, I immediately began embezzling against that eventuality,” he said, completely matter-of-fact.

 _Call it what it is, why don’t you?_ Aerith thought, equal parts dismayed and amused.

Sephiroth tilted his head a moment in contemplation, then his smile grew into a smirk. “Yes ... I did do that this cycle – and it seems the money will be even easier to access than in my original one.” He fixed Aerith with his glowing cat eyes. “Since _you_ have memories of that cycle, you may have noticed there are certain technological discrepancies. It appears this cycle is slightly more advanced. I’d be interested to discuss my theories as to why with you later. However, this all has resulted in more automation, more convenience features ... It is amazing how _easy_ it is to access money when you have an eidetic memory and all of the account numbers memorized.”

Aerith continued to stare at him, her brain working tangentially as she tried to process all the layers of what he was saying. _He’d ... be interested in discussing theories with me?_ The phrasing, tossed out so casually as if without conscious thought, seemed to take on enormous significance. _He loves launching into in-depth analysis of – well, just about any topic, it seems sometimes. But it’s always been a lecture; turning it into a_ _ **discussion**_ _... Is this a subtle apology for how he was acting earlier? A sign he considers me a co-equal participant in the exchange of ideas?_

“Hm ...” Sephiroth hummed, seemingly to himself. “I suppose I can use the ‘Candy-with-an-I’ account ...”

 _The_ _ **what**_ _?_ Oh, NOW was the slapstick music – _Thanks, Planet._

“The _what?_ ”

Sephiroth’s mouth twitched slightly. “Something of a joke that snowballed past anything I’d anticipated, I’ll admit. When I was younger,” he explained, “I used to spitefully make headings for the most ridiculous of things in my expense reports, to see what Shinra would cover and at what point they’d gather the courage to tell me to stop. It made a good bureaucratic smokescreen for quietly tucking money away.

“Well, at one point, I submitted a form containing multiple lines adding up to a rather large sum, with a listing only as: ‘Candy-with-an-I.’ I wanted the most stereotypical name I could manage; I was _sure_ Shinra would turn that one down. However, Hojo _leaped_ to cover it – from the Science Department budget, even. This started a low-key manhunt through Midgar to find this non-existent woman on the off chance I ended up fathering a child. Of course, it became one of my favorite repeat entries after that.”

His mouth tugged again in a small smirk, looking a little rueful this time. “I’m relieved my little prank didn’t accidentally end up netting some real woman into _Hojo’s_ clutches ... However, it seems the name was _so_ stereotypical, no real stripper or prostitute actually took it. I am sure this ‘woman’s’ elusiveness drove him wild.”

He spread one hand, palm up. “The account I made for ‘her’ still exists – and is less likely to throw up flags than if I use my own account.” His face twisted in a mild grimace. “I ... may not have made a pattern of subtlety this cycle.”

Jessie made a garbled sound. “You think?” Nanaki asked dryly.

Aerith’s face heated. “In our defense,” she managed to choke out, “it’s kind of hard to consider what people around you might be thinking when dealing with issues of colossal importance.”

“Mmm ...” Nanaki hummed noncommitally – which somehow was worse than if he hadn’t said anything.

Jessie glanced from Sephiroth to Nanaki, paused briefly at Aerith, then seemed to mentally strike her off the list and turned back to the other two. “We aren’t really ‘Team S for Subtlety’ are we?”

Nanaki gave a growling huff. “I’m sorry the extinction of nearly my entire species has made me an oddity that stands out amongst the norm.”

Jessie threw up her arms. “ _I’m not trying to insult you!_ ” she wailed helplessly.

Aerith decided it was time to tactfully steer the conversation in a different direction. “Still ... maybe we should try a little ... less blatant flaunting of ... everything.”

Nanaki snorted and his ears and tail flicked. “A noble goal, but might I remind you, _my options are limited, here_. What do you expect me to do, dress up in human clothes and try to stagger around on two legs?”

“That would be ridiculous,” Sephiroth scoffed. “I cannot imagine anyone being inept enough to fall for that.”

Aerith made a strangled noise. _Does he really not remember ...? No,_ she realized, _he literally wasn’t paying attention._ Just because he could see through Cloud’s eyes didn’t mean he chose to at every moment. After all, it was notable that the very first interaction other Aerith had been there to witness had been Sephiroth staring blankly at Cloud and then asking, ‘... Who are you?’

Jessie coughed. “I honestly think Sephiroth will attract more attention ...” She trailed off.

“Does it matter?” Sephiroth asked. “Even if we do attract attention, what could anyone do about it? There is literally no one on this planet who could stop me.”

“Yes, but they can _annoy_ you,” Aerith pointed out.

“Mm. Point.”

“Also, _I’m_ not bullet proof. Or club proof. Or any other sort of physical harm proof. Neither is anyone else in this group, for that matter. But if something happens to _me_... Yes, you’re stopped. At least for this cycle.”

“Mn.” He pondered for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. I shall keep in mind the things we learned from Jessie’s activity in that ridiculous group.” He tilted his head in the general direction of Jessie’s pocket, where she was keeping her phone.

“I am _so_ sorry about all that,” Jessie apologized. “I’ll delete my account as soon as we have a moment.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Huh?”

Sephiroth smiled. “Your ill-considered teenage antics have actually left us with an opportunity. Does the phrase ‘double-agent’ mean anything to you?”

“What?”

“As a long-time member with a well-established history of activity –”

“Please don’t look at that!”

“– Any current posts you make will not invite suspicion. We know the Silver Elite is being monitored; a cunning enough individual might keep tabs on new accounts on the off chance that I or other agents interested in me might be trying to use this site for their own ends. You, however, will attract no such scrutiny. This provides us a unique opportunity for misinformation. Not to mention a window into monitoring the public perception of our activities.”

“I ... think the Silver Elite might be a little biased ...”

“Can you do this for me ... Jessie?” Sephiroth’s voice purred the word – he seemed _incapable_ of saying anyone’s name without a purr, growl, or sneer.

Jessie was reduced to incoherence. “Ydjbh?” she managed in what might have originally been meant as a ‘yes.’

“You did that on purpose,” Aerith accused, giving him a reproving frown. Sephiroth smirked at her and spread his hands.

Aerith closed her eyes and pressed her palms together, taking a deep breath as she centered her attention once more. Being exasperated at Sephiroth seemed likely to be a full-time prospect; she was getting pretty good at setting it aside to deal with more important concerns.

Misinformation.

 _What do we know? The Turks are going to be coming after us. Things have changed since the original timeline, but not in any direction that’s likely to change_ _ **that.**_ _Sephiroth is also very ... NOT human._ She almost brusquely waved aside the instinctive feeling of cosmic horror as she contemplated his eldritch and terrifying nature. _Yes, yes, yes; that’s old news. But we CAN_ _ **use**_ _that. Let’s start thinking within these eldritch parameters._

“Sephiroth ... you can be in multiple places at once, yes?”

“Yes.”

“What if you used some of your other bodies to be seen in other places? Not-doing-anything-destructive!” she added very quickly, since she worried the possibility might not be off the table unless she said anything. “Just ... _seen_ , out and around, not really trying to hide – you know, like a Tuesday for you.”

Sephiroth’s pupils narrowed as he rapidly followed the implications of her train of thought. “If there are multiple sightings, which is the ‘real’ one? The idea that all of them could be real is too outside their paradigm for them even to consider. Hmm ...” Thoughtfully, he stroked his chin. “If this body were somehow disguised, that could further tamp down on the possibility for bothersome complications. If you have four potential Sephiroth sightings, three of them are precise down to the smallest detail, and one is an individual who shares but a few features – which are you more likely to focus on and which are you more likely to rule out?”

Taken aback, Aerith raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ll accept changes to your appearance?”

“If _I_ do it.”

His voice was iron firm. There was no mistaking that qualifier for anything but law.

Aerith frowned slightly, trying to understand what was going on in his head in light of everything she’d just learned.

Sephiroth’s image had been very tightly controlled, to the point that Shinra’s Marketing Department had infiltrated his fan club. On top of that, _no one_ looked that good by accident. It was quite likely his image had been carefully crafted; the fact that he continued to recreate that one outfit throughout every form she’d seen suggested it was the compromise he’d been able to live with, even felt strongly about at this point. _Bowing to pressure to change his appearance has to be full of unnerving associations for him ... but also potentially freeing._ Again, if HE were the one making the decisions on what to change.

Jessie seemed to perk up. “So ... you’re thinking of a disguise?” She clapped her hands together almost giddily. “Oo, there’s a LOT that can be done with makeup to alter the lines of your face! And let’s not forget the power of new clothes!”

Aerith gave a mental face-palm. _Thank you, Jessie ..._ she thought with a _long_ sigh. “He _really_ doesn’t like being touched,” she warned.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Jessie threw a wistful look in Sephiroth’s direction. “I think if I actually touched him, I might just die.”

“You would,” Sephiroth assured her mildly.

“Eeep?”

“Sephiroth!” Aerith glared at him, exasperated. “Stop bullying Jessie.”

“Bullying? Please. Toying.”

Aerith rolled her eyes. “Fine. Stop _toying_ with Jessie.”

“No.”

“Sephiroth!”

“She makes amusing noises.”

“What are you, a cat batting at vole? Just don’t _break_ her.”

“Of course not ...” Sephiroth murmured. One corner of his lip turned upward. “Then she stops making noises.”

Aerith threw up her hands, to Sephiroth’s _painfully_ obvious amusement. Jessie was continuing to look a bit poleaxed. “Not that I’m _objecting_ to anything about this analogy, but ... Is a vole, like, some kind of mutant mole?”

“Yes.” Aerith’s hands curled into fists. “They are evil and eat my plants. On second thought, you can be a mole.”

“Oh ... Okay.”

“Moles are nice,” Aerith assured her. “They eat insects.”

While they were talking, Sephiroth had taken a step away from their little group. Pressing both palms together, he had gradually lifted one away, slowly building a hand-mirror in which he was now examining his reflection. He took a deep breath, drawing Aerith and Jessie's attention back to him with an audible exhalation as his clothing grew hazy and reformed into a black long-sleeved shirt and pants. He tilted the mirror, frowning thoughtfully at his own face. His long silver hair pulled itself back as if by magic, a dark tie forming to hold the whole thing neatly in a pony-tail. He judged the alterations critically, then, with a minute twitch at the corners of his eyes, the rims of glasses took shape, spreading outwards and back towards his ears while the frames filled themselves in with glass.

He frowned at his reflection once more. “Hmm. No makeup, but you are right about the lines of my face ...” He cupped his chin, one finger tapping thoughtfully against his jaw. Silver hair began to sprout around his mouth, then filled in back along his jaw until it reached his ears. The full beard grew until it was around an inch long, then ceased growing as abruptly as it started. Sephiroth examined himself with a pleased expression.

Aerith felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. _Oh ..._ she thought weakly. _Sephiroth looks_ _ **good**_ _as a silver fox._

This was not good. She was just getting used to his _normal_ appearance; she didn’t need him changing it up on her to remind her that he was just an unfairly beautiful man. _I haven’t had any dreams since that one time; it’s going to be fine._

Of course, the circumstances hadn’t really lent themselves to much restful sleep recently. So, that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

 _NO_ , she told herself firmly. _It means everything, now shut up._

“This will do,” Sephiroth said, sounding satisfied as he deconstructed the mirror back into its component Jenova cells.

One of Nanaki’s ears flicked. “Hmm ... You still look very non-standard for a human.”

“Yes, but the point isn’t to look standard; it is to look sufficiently non-Sephiroth.”

“Hmm ...” Nanaki took a moment to prowl around him, looking him over with his one beady eye. “It is true that I have never seen a human accomplish quite such rapid hair growth ... Wouldn’t your disguise be more complete if you changed its color?”

“Perhaps.” Sephiroth’s pupils grew more slitted. “But there is a limit to the amount of alteration I will accept. The color stays.”

Aerith’s brow furrowed as she slowly looked Sephiroth up and down. “Just ... how extensive _is_ your shape-changing ability?”

“As extensive as I choose,” he answered simply.

_And his particular mix of pride and personal issues determines what choices he’s willing to make, right._

Jessie too was frowning at the new, altered Sephiroth, but her expression was more one of thoughtful realization. “You ... look like a stage-hand,” she noted. She tapped one finger against her cheek. “But the pants are wrong; they should be denim – worksman’s pants. The dark color is good though ...”

Sephiroth considered this a moment. The material of his pants altered, shifting to black denim.

“That’s perfect! Now they just need a belt so no one wonders how they stay up ... _A_ belt ... Perfect!” She frowned down. “Boots should probably be a bit shorter too ... Boots are fine; you _want_ to be able to scramble over set-pieces ... just not make a lot of noise when you do it.”

A few minutes of wrangling and the boots had been changed away from their military design to something more casual and civilian in nature. Aerith had thought, at this point, they would have looked better in brown, but Sephiroth had put his foot down and Jessie had spoken fervently about how anyone without black shoes would have been made to spray-paint them black anyway.

“There,” Jessie said at last, stepping back. “Now you look like some of the people I used to work with. Even the odd-colored hair, to be honest. Although my stage manager would have pitched a fit if we’d dyed it anything light colored.”

Aerith looked at him thoughtfully. “You know ... we should think about getting you some actual, _real_ clothes.”

“Why? I can create any outfit I so desire.”

“Yes, but, if those clothes are made from you, then you’re essentially wearing nothing – and what would Mom say if she learned I was traveling across the continent with a naked man?”

“Given what I’ve seen of Elmyra, I’d expect sass over outrage.”

He wasn’t _wrong,_ but she wasn’t going to give him that point. “ _Exactly_ ,” she said instead. “And I don’t even want to imagine those things being said by _my mother._ So, you should really have some actual clothes!” She beamed at him. “Besides! It’ll give that body something to wear other than that tattered robe. I imagine it must be getting pretty stinky by now.”

“I only emit bodily scents when I choose to.”

Nanaki’s ears pointed straight up. “Ah! _That’s_ why your emotions smell so muted!”

Sephiroth’s eyes slashed to him. “Hmm?”

Aerith listened in fascination turning slowly to dismay as Nanaki proceeded to explain how everyone was emitting scent cues as to their emotions as a matter of course. _Just, ah, how much have I been revealing inadvertently?_

Sephiroth, apparently, hadn’t been emitting cues at all when Nanaki had first met him and this body only did so in a muted fashion.

 _That makes sense,_ Aerith realized. _A form comprised entirely of Jenova cells wouldn’t have any autonomous processes – it’d only do exactly what Sephiroth told it to do. But if he’s building his form around a Shambler, well ... The mind may have been burned out and the body radically altered by Jenova cells, but there’s still a human base down in there somewhere._

“A part of me started to wonder if your ability to feel emotions itself was muted,” Nanaki finished up, his tail flicking a little sheepishly.

Sephiroth’s pupils dilated slightly. “I assure you, it is not,” he murmured dryly. He appeared to mull over this new data for a few moments. “So ... there’s an entire element to the communication of emotions that I have been unaware of ...”

“I’m surprised,” said Nanaki. “Given your ability to ‘count Nitrogen,’ as you claimed, it should be well within your ability to sense it.”

“Mn. Acute senses are one thing; filtering for important information is another. I shall have to begin building a schema; would you be willing to assist?”

Nanaki looked taken aback. “I ... in theory.”

Sephiroth seemed to take this cautious response as positive enough and nodded. “This can wait until a later date, however. We still have monetary collection to handle before getting started on necessary purchases.”

“Meaning: shopping!” Aerith beamed and bounced slightly. Okay, so Sephiroth hadn’t _actually_ said he agreed to trying on some clothes for himself. _But_ ... he hadn’t definitely said no. _I can work with this!_

* * *

Tseng stepped out of the way as a harried looking nurse bustled by, then had to reach out an arm to pull the newest member of the Turks with him before she got trampled.

“This is where you’ll go when the time comes for you to finally get your augmentation,” he narrated. “There isn’t time for you to recover from surgery right now, but you should take some time to familiarize yourself with the options before we depart so you can begin considering what will best compliment your specific approach.”

The new recruit, Elena, glanced up at him and then back at Rude, shadowing them in his usual stoic silence. “So, it’s true all Turks have some kind of enhancements?”

“Mmhm,” rumbled Rude.

“What are yours?”

“Bone lacing, muscle weave, healing boosters ...”

“Rude has the largest number of enchantments of any Turk still active,” Tseng noted.

Embarrassed, Rude looked down and away. “Reno’s enhancements are more extensive.”

“In terms of the amount of wiring necessary, yes. In terms of sheer number, no.”

“What are your enhancements?” Elena asked him.

“A sleep regulator.”

They stepped around a hand-truck before coming to one of the side rooms; Tseng knocked on the open door as a formality. Reno beamed from his hospital bed and waved expansively.

“How are you, Reno?” Tseng asked as he lead the small group inside.

“I’m on drugs!” Reno announced, beaming. He held up a finger. “Doctor assigned ones!” he added as Rude began to open his mouth.

Rude subsided, looking mildly sulky at this obvious straight-line being taken from him.

Reno smugly leaned back in bed and laced both fingers behind his head. “I am starting to rethink my stance on Medical. I feel ...” he trailed off for a moment, searching for the right word, “ ... _great_ ,” he settled on.

Tseng had to step out of the way again as what looked like a pile of boxes with legs carved a determined path from the open door to the nearby office, making a beeline for the hand-truck they had seen in the hall. “You’re not supposed to lie like that!” it called in a half-bored youthful voice.

Reno scowled and brought down his arms. However, it seemed like even chastisement couldn’t dampen his drug-induced good mood and he was grinning again moments later. “Heya, squirt; how’s manual labor treating you?”

“Fuck off, Reno.”

“Kids like me,” he confided as the pile of boxes disappeared out the door.

The person who’d been carrying them reappeared moments later, all joints and gangly limbs of a teenager going through a growth spurt, wearing the uniform of a SOLDIER, 3rd class. Tseng gave the young woman a formal nod. “Specialist Shelke.”

“Mr. Tseng.” The young woman returned the formal nod in kind.

“Hey, _hey!_ ” Reno objected. “Don’t I get a ‘Mr. Reno’?”

Shelke put her fingers to her chin in a thoughtful expression. “... Nah. That would imply you’re some kind of adult.”

“ _Oof_ ,” Rude chuckled, clutching his hand to his stomach in sympathy as if having just watched someone get the wind knocked out of him.

The corner of Tseng’s lip began to twitch upward, before he was startled by a loud “Hey!” from beside him. Elena, the new recruit, had her hackles up and was just starting to step forward. “Kids should show more respect,” she scolded, to Tseng’s growing alarm. “Don’t you know who this is? You’re talking to a member of the Turks!”

Tseng stepped in hastily, clearing his throat. “It’s alright, Elena. Your desire to stand up for the members of your team is commendable,” he said in a loud voice, as much so Shelke would hear him as Elena, “but unnecessary in this case. What you’re seeing is just some interdepartmental banter.” He put slightly more emphasis on his next words, hoping Elena would pick up their significance. “We are of the opinion, if Shinra has determined someone is to be considered an adult for the purposes of being deployed in combat, she deserves that consideration off the field.”

 _Meaning: don’t call her a ‘kid.’_ She was one, but that was a very unwise thing to admit out loud. It was the sort of detail you danced around, both for the sake of your career and for the mental health of everybody involved.

He saw Shelke smile, then disappear back into the office for more boxes. Elena was still looking dubious. “If ... you say so, sir. But she was badmouthing a member of the _Turks_!”

 _Ah._ Tseng lowered his voice; she needed to be briefed on a few important details – and soon. “The Turks may be the feared left hand of Shinra. But SOLDIER is the right – and a powerful one at that. Whatever nominal respect we are supposed to be afforded, it is always _wise_ to remember that even the youngest and smallest SOLDIER already has more enhancements than our most heavily enhanced Turk – plus a noted trend for instability. Even if Specialist Rui has demonstrated no signs of violent mental degeneration –” _yet_ , noted the cold part of him he didn’t want to acknowledge, “– it is always good _practice_ to avoid riling a SOLDIER when it’s not absolutely necessary. As these exchanges you witnessed have a noted positive effect on morale, I have elected to allow them.”

He’d added the last sentence because he thought it necessary to give her that context; he’d thought it neutrally worded enough that they could delicately skate past the final, deepest issue. Unfortunately, something in the wording seemed to have triggered an association in Reno’s mind.

Reno gave a fey grin. “Us child soldiers need to stick together ...”

There it was. The single detail they all quietly recognized but tried never to acknowledge out loud. Reno _knew._ The weighty responsibility placed on a mind too young to fully grasp it, the flattery of what seemed like validation to a youthful mind, that _of_ _course_ you were old enough to make these decisions. The series of choices that weren’t really choices. _‘Amazing; your aptitudes show you might actually be able to become part of our exclusive elite. It’s so rare that I recommend this – but it would be an almost criminal waste to ignore this potential. Not realizing it would be like ... like destroying a work of art. Now, child, what do you want to be when you grow up?’_

The simple glees of childhood put aside for the more adult fulfillment of a job well done. The rush of being part of the elite, but the anxiety from being on the lowest rung of that elite; the need to prove oneself. The first time you had to take a step that made you uncomfortable, but you were surrounded by adults you respected telling you it was okay. Then, it became something you had done – and that couldn’t be changed. Then it became the way things were done. Those recruited as children often became some of the most intense of all of Shinra’s soldiers – and some of their most broken.

Reno, Rude, and Tseng all knew it intimately. They could all see when the cycle was happening again in front of them – and all of them dealt with it in different ways.

Tseng offered her respect, trying to alleviate the pain he could do nothing about with the perks that were supposed to come along with it. _Also, when vacancies arise while_ _ **I**_ _command the Turks, choosing adults._ Rude offered a sympathetic ear, during the times she didn’t want to talk to her sister. Reno, for his part, acted like a bratty older brother, offering, with his prodding and teasing, a bit of the childhood that would otherwise be abandoned until, far too late, one realized just how much those small moments would have meant.

The alarming thing, though, was just how willing Reno had been to acknowledge something like that out loud. _We don’t talk about this. We NEVER talk about this._ Even drugs shouldn’t have made him so blunt. As much as Tseng found dubious Reno’s claim of “functional alcoholism,” he had indeed learned to internalize some strictures so deeply, no amount of inebriation could blur the line enough for him to cross it.

_The drugs aren’t responsible for his bluntness. They’re responsible for his cheer._

That terrifying, almost suicidal manic depression wasn’t gone, just papered over – like a thin skin of ice formed on the surface of a deadly and treacherous lake.

 _Thicken the ice._ He was _not_ going to allow Reno to fall through and drown, so he did the only thing he could think of. Distracted him with work.

Tseng cleared his throat. “Actually, while we’re here,” he extemporized smoothly, “I wanted to have a meeting with all the Turks to discuss our next steps forward.”

Elena brightened and her chest puffed out a bit at ‘ _all_ the Turks.’ Rude looked taken aback; _he_ hadn’t been informed of this – in part because Tseng hadn’t planned it himself – and sudden changes to plans always threw him off his stride. He scowled faintly at Tseng. “Are you sure Reno shouldn’t be _resting?_ ”

 _Yes._ Reno _needed_ R&R, that much was true. But just being left alone with no project to poke at, with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and chew over certain thoughts that were in turn trying to eat him alive ...

Reno, fortunately, seemed to take offense at Rude’s suggestion. He waved a hand in a flapping, dismissive gesture. “I’ll be _fine,_ ” he assured, a bit drunkenly. “I’m a _functional_ alcoholic.”

... _Just go with it._

Tseng began to spread documents across the blankets as the Turks gathered in a huddle around the hospital bed. “I would have _liked_ to do this someplace more secure,” Tseng muttered, well aware of the bustle of nurses and the trekking too and fro of the box-laden teen behind them. “But I suppose we have no choice if we want Reno with us. We just got him _in_ to Medical, after all.”

Reno nodded with a smirk. “Yup!” he proclaimed, his former cheerful demeanor restored. “Because it’s finally safe now! Professor Creepy is out, Doctor Hottie is _in!_ ”

Shelke, mid way through returning from bringing out another load of boxes, paused to give Reno a Look with a capitol ‘L.’ “Reno. Are you going to hit on my sister your entire stay here?”

“Nunya business, squirt; your sis is an adult woman who can make her own decisions about whether she’s attracted to this handsome bod.”

Shelke made a face. “Yuck.”

“Also, not the _entire_ stay. I need to sleep!”

The young Specialist snorted and rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. I’m not a doctor; I can’t tell you how much the healing process gets hurt by _crushing disappointment._ ” After delivering this smackdown, she seemed poised to sail out the door before Reno could retort, but instead paused. “Although ...” Mako glowing eyes took on a sinister glitter. “Say you don’t manage to _utterly_ embarrass yourself. If you make her unhappy in any way ...”

Reno looked her up and down from his hospital bed and gave a snort. “What? You’ll beat me up? Please, you’re not the first SOLDIER I’ve taken on.”

“And how did that go?” Rude muttered under his breath.

“Hey, hey, _hey!_ ”

“Oh, you shouldn’t fear me because I’m a SOLDIER.” Shelke smiled at the two of them. “You should fear me because I’m an SND. Anything happens to my sister – and I’ll send out a memo with your browser history. Oh, and Reno?” Her smile was positively evil. “ _Nothing_ ever truly goes away on the internet.”

Reno stared for a full two seconds, then straightened in his bed and pointed at her, looking accusingly at Tseng. “Why isn’t she in our department?”

“No person with SOLDIER enhancements can be a Turk,” Shelke and Tseng rattled off in unison, Shelke with a bit of a sigh.

“Security reasons,” Tseng finished.

Reno settled back, crossing his arms sulkily. “Man, I want a teammate with a tech-magic brain ...”

“It’s not _magic_ ,” Shelke objected.

“You can use your brain to do things that violate the normal rules of computing. It’s magic, you’re a tech-mage, and I am not accepting constructive criticism at this time.”

Shelke threw up her arms. “Fine! Have it your way, shithead.”

“I will!” Reno yelled after her as she disappeared back into the office. “And hey! Where’s the secret SND chatroom!”

“Up your ass, Reno!” came the shouted reply.

“You do realize that’s probably an urban legend, right?” Rude rumbled to Reno.

“Oh no, it’s real,” his partner assured him. “And I _will_ find it.” He paused for a moment, then whipped out his phone. “... U-R-A-S-S-R-E-N-O, dot ... Nope, damn. It was worth a shot. Maybe without the ‘Reno’ ...? Aaaand that’s just porn. Okay, sorry; paying attention now,” he promised.

“I don’t believe you,” Tseng informed him, “but nonetheless.” He picked up one of the pieces of paper. “To the surprise of perhaps none of you, our first priority has shifted to uncovering more intel on Sephiroth. What he’s doing, what his motives might be, anything that could potentially be useful for the higher-ups to figure out what to do next. As always, the most challenging part is figuring out where to begin. Just as an archeologist can’t just start digging in a random spot and expect to find an ancient Cetra city, we can’t expect to begin unraveling mysteries without a lead,” he added for Elena’s benefit.

She, however, didn’t seem to need to be told. Eager to contribute, she began immediately leaping in with her own suggestions. “Right! So, when we’re trying to find information on a person, first step is to have a ‘talk’ with their friends and family, right?”

“A literal talk is preferred,” Tseng added, just able to _hear_ those quotation marks. “‘The more damage you do, the more bitterness you accrue.’ Better to get away with simply looming in a polite but intimidating manner, if that can be managed.”

“Hmm,” rumbled Rude. “Well. All his friends are dead.”

“And the only member of his family, he stabbed,” added Reno, “so I don’t think _he_ knows.”

Tseng winced; yet again, it appeared Reno had managed to stumble over information he shouldn’t have. Hopefully, no one would think about that detail too closely if he pushed the conversation forward fast enough. “It seems the standard first step is not an option. Any suggestions?”

“What about associates?” Elena asked, clearly working her way down the figurative Book, line by line.

Reno sat up straight. “Avalanche! I’m telling you ...”

“Aerith ...” Rude murmured with a faint, concerned frown.

Behind them, Shelke paused her back and forth trek through the room momentarily, shaking her head with a discomforted frown, before continuing her assigned task.

Elena’s metaphorical ears seemed to perk up at Rude’s words. “Who?”

“The Ancient,” Tseng clarified. “Removing her so destructively from our labs was only the latest incident; Sephiroth has been appearing in her orbit for days, first seen by our Reno here.”

Then there was that moment at the pillar, which he had witnessed with his own waking eyes. _The impossible. Things which attributing to delusion would be a comfort, because then you wouldn’t have to contend with the implications of them being real._

Elena seemed as focused on the scent as a bloodhound. “Does _she_ have family or friends?”

“Her adopted mother lives in the Sector 5 slums,” Tseng answered absently, still trying to shake the chill of those memories from his mind.

“Well then.” Elena cracked her knuckles. “Maybe we could go have a polite-but-intimidating conversation with her, if you know what I mean?”

That brought Tseng back to the moment with a jolt. “ _No!_ ”

Elena’s eyes widened at the vehemence of his response.

Tseng recovered his composure. “We have explicit orders not to pester any person the Ancient finds ‘significant.’”

Rude nodded with the air of someone who had suddenly grasped the situation. “Because we still want to ensure her eventual willing cooperation.”

 _Because the entirety of Shinra will be annihilated if we don’t._ An eerie prickling on the back of Tseng’s neck made him glance over to meet the inhuman glow of Mako eyes. For a second, his heart stopped as he seemed to fall through the blackness of those pupils, to a realm where all the primal fears of the dark were true. _There really is something that moves in the darkness, a titanic entity that stalks with malevolent intent._ One that had now been made aware of him, as his tiny, fragile being was ringed by that eerie green glow.

Tseng blinked and drew a ragged breath. _It’s just Shelke. Only Shelke._

There was a simple explanation, he told himself. The last time he’d looked directly into Mako eyes, he’d been meeting Sephiroth’s harrowing gaze through the pillar camera feed ... even as the world flipped on its head. _Given how existentially terrifying you found that moment, of course this would trigger a reaction._

He shook his head, dragging his attention shakily back onto what had just been said. Yes. Rude had offered a plausible explanation. No need to go into details about Sephiroth’s threat to destroy them all – not when one member of his team was untested and this wasn’t a secure area.

Tseng cleared his throat and worded his answer to avoid directly addressing the assumption. “Mm, let me just say you may consider this an inviolate directive for the time being.”

Reno looked enlightened and his eyes glittered. “Aaaah ...” he tapped the side of his nose. “I get you.” He waggled that finger at Tseng with an appreciative air.

 _I sincerely doubt that._ But, if Reno wanted to assume Tseng had masterfully manipulated their bosses to ensure they wouldn’t have to bully Elmyra, that was fine as well. He _wouldn’t_ have looked forward to such a thing. Anyone who offered cookies even to visitors she didn’t particularly want in her house at the time was _not_ someone who should be overly inconvenienced.

“If questioning people about Sephiroth won’t work,” Rude said with a thoughtful frown, “I suppose we’ll just have to keep an eye on the man himself.”

“If we can find him,” said Tseng. “Do you have an idea?”

“Uh ... Um ...”

Tseng sighed as he recognized the telltale signs of a flustered Rude.

To his surprise, Reno chimed up with a dismissive, “Pssh! That’s easy! I figured that out _hours_ ago!”

Tseng blinked, taken aback. “You did?”

“Yup!” Reno proclaimed. “I have an entire network of agents already on the job!”

“ _How?_ Where did you get the manpower? How much did it cost? _How did you authorize large-scale expenditures without me?_ ”

“Now you see, that’s the best part! This ain’t costin’ us a single gil!”

As Tseng stared, flabbergasted, Reno pulled out his phone, tapped it a few times, then turned it around to show them the screen with a smirk. “Behold! My cunning plan.”

“... The Silver Elite? Your cunning plan is a _fan club?_ ”

“Yup!” Reno gave a smug grin. “Who better to keep track of where Sephiroth shows up than a bunch of people obsessed with him and his movements? Why bother wasting time and energy setting up your _own_ network of informants, when there’s a pre-existing one already, willing to do all the work for you just out of passion for the subject!”

“That ...” Tseng blinked a few times. “... Is actually very clever.” _Trust Reno to come up with a solution involving laziness._

“It barely even took a suggestion for them to set up a Sephiroth Tracker,” Reno continued, turning the phone back around so he could scroll through it. “Oh look! We got some hits just while we’ve been talking! Sephiroth has been spotted outside Kalm!” he proclaimed. “... And on the Sector 2 plate. And in Wall Market. And in the Sector 4 slums. And on top of a crane moving rubble in Sector 1. Hmm ...”

“Sounds like your Sephiroth Tracker could use a little work,” Rude teased him dryly.

Tseng frowned. “Not necessarily ... During his intrusion into Shinra tower, I was receiving reports from multiple locations in a very short span of time ... I have no idea how he accomplished it, but he was certainly giving off the _appearance_ of being in multiple places at once.”

Elena was staring at him, dismayed. “You mean we’re going to have to check out _all_ of them? That’s crazy! Where would we even start?”

“Well that’s easy,” said Reno. “Just look for the one next to Aerith!” he pointed out like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, _come on!_ ” He began listing on his fingers. “The guy was playing guard dog for her at the church, he answered her summons in the helicopter, he came down to our office to collect _her_ things, and he wrapped it all up by extracting Aerith from the Science Department. It ain’t rocket-science to figure if we find her, Sephiroth won’t be far away.”

“Also a good point,” Tseng acknowledged.

Rude cleared his throat. “Say we find him ... Then what?”

“Try to take him into custody?” Elena asked quickly, clearly eager to anticipate her new boss’ wishes.

Tseng blanched. “ _No,_ ” he said at the same time as Reno said, “Aw, fuck no!” and he heard the bark of a contralto laugh from Shelke sound out in the hall. Tseng frowned briefly – that must have been at the bottom end of her register; he couldn’t remember hearing her laugh that way before. _Teens. Always trying out new things, trying to figure out their identity._

“Observe _only,_ ” Tseng clarified. “We are to gather information so others can make the decisions; that’s _all_.”

“Oh good,” came a new voice from the doorway. Shalua unhooked a clipboard from its hook near the door. “I can only put you back together from _so_ many pieces.” As Shelke passed by her, arms occupied with boxes, Shalua used the clipboard to tap her on the head with a quiet, “Boop!” to angry sibling noises.

Elena straightened and Tseng could already see her starting to bristle at this interruption. _Oh no._ Then she appeared to stop, her eyes narrowing for a second. _Oh good; she’s actually thinking._

Elena turned to him and jerked a thumb at Shalua. “She’s Reno’s doctor? I didn’t know any of the surgeons here had siblings.”

 _Ah._ Well, she’d gotten the sibling part right. Tseng cleared his throat. “Doctor Rui is, in fact, our new head of the Science Department.”

“Of course you knew about that,” Shalua sighed. “You were probably aware of it before I was.”

Elena’s eyes widened and her mouth made a small “O” ... Her gaze darted to Shelke and she blanched. _Just realizing you started to tell off the sister of a department head, huh?_ Hopefully this would be a valuable learning experience.

“I, uh ...” Elena stuck out a hand abruptly. “My name is Elena, ma’am! I’m the newest member of the Turks!”

Shalua looked at the hand, then at the clipboard in her one good hand.

“Oh. Er, sorry ...”

“No, no; it’s quite alright. One moment.” Transferring her attention to her left arm, Shalua began to carefully move it one step at a time. Bend at the elbow. Turn hand over. Open fingers. Move clipboard so its edge was resting in the center of the metal palm. Slowly close fingers, keeping a careful eye on how tight they appeared to be squeezing, before finally giving the mental order to halt. Shalua smiled and extended her now freed natural hand to shake Elena’s. “A pleasure to meet you; I hope you do well in your new profession. What made you join the Turks?”

“My sister was a Turk,” she confessed with a note of pride.

“Ah?” Shalua glanced in the direction of Shelke’s back. “Joining up because of family ties?” Her expression was a mite ironic. “I can understand something about that ...”

“I believe,” said Tseng, “Doctor Rui is here because, as the former head of Cybernetics, she’s in the habit of stopping by any time a Turk is severely injured to determine if any enhancements were compromised.”

Shalua plucked the clipboard out of her cybernetic hand and tilted it at him in a semi-salute. “Got it in one. Now,” she continued, “let’s –” She paused and glanced back down at her cybernetic arm, which had retained its pose even after the clipboard’s removal. She sighed and the arm slowly lowered back to its position of rest. “Now,” she began again, “let’s take a look at that handsome fellow. Who’s my pride and joy, hmm?” she cooed as Reno started to preen. “Have you been a good full spinal reflex enhancer? Yes you have. Yes you have!”

As Reno deflated, Shelke paused on her way back into the office to shoot her sister an offended look. “I though _I_ was your pride and joy.”

Shalua waved the clipboard airily. “Your chip’s my _dissertation_ – which, a lot like you, I look at every time with a mix of pride and exasperation.”

Shalua’s invention, which allowed those with the SND ability to interface wirelessly with electronic devices without the need for the traditional bulky helmet and non-portable setup, had been what originally catapulted her to the head of Cybernetics.

“Have you noticed any random twitching in your arm?” she asked Reno as she looked over his charts.

“Occasionally ...”

“Damn. Thought so. With wiring that extensive and a wound that large, something inorganic was bound to be cut. I don’t know what you plan to do next,” she added to Tseng, “but whatever your next mission is, Reno will _not_ be joining you. This is going to need splicing to repair; even shoving him full of energy from the best Materia wielder on staff won’t fix that.”

Tseng sighed. He’d been hoping for a different answer, but wasn’t surprised.

“Don’t worry, though,” the doctor told Reno. “We’ll get you patched up quick as we can, I promise. After everything you threw in to stop those Avalanche terrorists at the pillar, fast-tracking your treatment is the least we can do.”

Reno’s grin vanished.

The pit dropped out of Tseng’s stomach. _Oh shit ..._

She didn’t know. Neither did Elena, Tseng realized. They were too untried, too untested to be trusted with the darkest of Shinra’s secrets.

_Maybe they won’t have to learn._

Now that was a hopeful thought. It was a new day, with a new man in charge. Perhaps the knowledge could just be ... not passed down. The only record of their sins left locked within the skulls of a slowly dwindling number of men.

Except ... no. It wasn’t just the Turks who knew, or even their new president. It was Heidegger and Scarlet. It was the recently sacked Professor Hojo. It was everyone who had been on that pillar, every enemy who hated them with a passion who had somehow walked away alive. And, of course, there was Sephroth himself.

And Aerith.

_No. Our sins will not be forgotten, dearly as we may wish it._

Tseng frowned slightly. _You’re certainly being dramatic today._ There was that word again: ‘sin.’ Cultural osmosis surely; his beliefs didn’t even have the same definition of sin.

_Then what do you believe?_

He paused. This was the second time this week that the concept of religion had floated to the forefront of his mind. _Deva walk among us. Maybe it’s time you start figuring out an answer to that question._

But that was all a concern for later. Right now, he had to deal with the fact that, in her still relative naivete, the doctor had said the absolute _worst_ thing possible for Reno’s state of mind – and, from the way he had gone completely still, it wasn’t doing any favors for Rude either.

_Distractions. Give them something work related to think about, anything._

Tseng cleared his throat. “About Sephiroth,” he said loudly. “I don’t suppose your new vaunted position has granted you any insight to how his return is being spun to the public? We wouldn’t want to step on any toes.”

Distracted before she could notice the effect her seemingly innocuous words had had on the veteran Turks, Shalua shrugged and gave a long sigh. “Damned if I know. I haven’t even finished moving out of my old office yet.”

Shelke, just emerging from the office with what could have been her umpteenth load of boxes, shot her an incredulous glare. “I’m sorry – _who’s_ been doing the moving?”

Tseng brightened internally. _Perfect._ The prospect of sibling banter was an unexpected boon; it was just the sort of thing to finish herding his people away from any dark thoughts before they could fall into dangerous depression.

“Oh, is that what we’ve been seeing,” Tseng encouraged this line of discussion. “I’d wondered why you weren’t in the barracks with the other on-call 3rds ...”

“This hypocrite,” Shelke announced, gobbling up Tseng’s instigation without pause, “has been using a blatant abuse of power to get someone with SOLDIER enhancements to heft boxes for her!”

“What I’m _doing_ ,” Shalua responded in lofty tones, “is getting my dear baby sister to exercise her familial duty in helping her poor, crippled big sis to move into her new office.”

“Your left arm can _lift_ just fine!”

“But still not as easily as you can!” she chirped brightly. “Oh, while you’re here, could you carry this out as well?” she asked, adding another small box to the top of the pile without waiting for an answer.

“Abuse of power! Cruel and unusual punishment!”

Rude chuckled and gave Shelke a pat on the shoulder. “Welcome to Shinra, kid.”

Tseng relaxed. The worst was over. Rude was smiling again, Elena was as clueless as before, Reno’s distractability had kicked in and he was wriggling down smugly into his sheets singing quietly, “Not my job, not my job, la-la-la-la-la, not my job ...”

As Shalua admonished Reno for his little dance and reminded the chagrined Turk that, just because he couldn’t feel the injury, didn’t mean it had gone away, Tseng spared a moment to run his fingers through his hair, feeling the tension that had been building just under the scalp. It was fine. He had everything under control.

Well, this moment was fine.

He could at least control this.

* * *

_Hmm. Trust Reno to find a flaw in my plans that seems perfectly obvious in hindsight._

Sephiroth withdrew his attention from the mind of the young SOLDIER. He had been fortunate that the Turks had been careless enough to discuss their plans in front of someone with Jenova cells; he couldn’t imagine what had possessed Tseng to be that careless. _In fairness to him,_ he allowed, _he had no way of knowing what a breach of Op-Sec that had been._

He needed to alter his plans.

Aerith glanced over at him, then, a few moments later, looked again. She frowned. “You know, with how fast your brain is supposed to work, you’ve been staring at me an _awful_ long time. What’s up?”

“Memorizing.”

“What?”

Sephiroth shook his head and stroked his new beard; he was still getting used to the warmth of it and the tingle of thousands of little hairs against his skin. Making them move in new patterns was almost soothing.

He had an inkling of how to adjust their deception, but it was the sort of idea where it felt ... _wrong_ for him to take unilateral action.

“It appears simply arranging for multiple sightings of myself will not be sufficient. The Turks have already had the idea to simply search for sightings of you.”

“How does he know that?” Jessie whispered to Nanaki.

“How _do_ you know that?” Nanaki asked bluntly.

“SOLDIER spies, probably,” Aerith guessed breezily. “Cloud’s not unique; Sephiroth can look through the eyes of anyone with Jenova cells, would be my guess.”

“Wait, Cloud is _what_ with the WHATNOW?”

“ _Who?_ ”

“Oh, right; you haven’t met him this timeline,” Aerith sighed.

“I have thought of several potential solutions,” Sephiroth said, raising his voice to cut off this annoying diversion. “The first and likely best option is to alter the appearance of some of my clones to mimic yours. It is unlikely to fool people who’ve known you the majority of your life, but I do not plan for them to be interviewed; the goal is simply to create false sightings. However, I can understand if you might find the appropriation of your image unpalatable. In that case, our next best choice would be to alter _your_ appearance.”

Jessie was staring at him. “Just ... how much can your shape-changing _do?_ ”

“I’ve already answered that question,” Sephiroth replied without taking his eyes off of Aerith.

“I just mean ...” the young woman continued to muse, “would the clones be _completely_ accurate or ...”

Sephiroth shifted his gaze and affixed her with a long, level look until she gulped and dropped her eyes. “Sorry, sorry ... That ... wasn’t appropriate.”

“Oh damn ...” Aeirth said in a faint voice. “Now I’m wondering it, too ...”

Sephiroth sighed and began to drum his fingers against his thigh. “I had consigned myself to a margin of error on anything normally concealed by clothing, as the ruse should not come under such scrutiny that I need ask you to strip so I can _check._ Are these questions truly relevant to this discussion?”

“Sorry!” She seemed to consider for a few moments. “What ... would any mimic of me be _doing,_ exactly?”

“Likely, just appearing to walk and talk. At a low volume. You have surprised me enough in our interactions that I doubt I could accurately predict your responses,” he admitted. His fingers brushed against the flower tucked into his harness. “Any attempt to recreate your mind ... would not do you justice.”

She blinked. His eyes detected a faint flush creeping over her features. She shook her head, quickly looking away as if distracted by some sound or such thing, even though Sephiroth’s ears could discern nothing out of the ordinary. “What about yourself?” she asked. “I never pictured you’d be willing to alter your appearance so much.” Her eyes lifted to his. “I know you suggested it, but ... are you really _fine_ with the idea?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Your appearance ...” he encompassed her with a sweep of one hand, “while still matching your Methods, is full of Meaning born from a dozen different Moments. Altering it, even as an expedience ... would take something away. I would rather,” he felt out slowly, “copy it than see that lost. My sense of Self has seen worse assaults; I can survive the experience.”

Aerith’s eyes widened slightly. “You mean ... you’d actually rather have your clones look like me, instead of having me change my clothes and my hairstyle or something?”

Sephiroth hesitated, frowning. “That is ... the wrong question. If you make the choice to change, your reasons grant the result new Meaning. Like ... the Red Dress. But, the new Meaning should be potent enough to be a worthy successor to the old. This Moment ... does not feel as important to me. But, that is something that can only be judged internally. It is not for _me_ to decide.”

The florist blinked several times, her frown deepening. She could _hear_ those capital letters, it seemed, but couldn’t quite understand them.

“So?” he asked. “Do you judge this Moment to have significance?”

After a long pause, she said slowly, “... Possibly. But, maybe not for the reason you think.” She glanced up at him. “I think I’m alright with the clone plan.”

Sephiroth nodded, relieved that was settled. “As you wish.”


End file.
